


Spread Your Wings

by freddieseyeliner



Series: Spread Your Wings Series [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Codependency, Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Harm, Sexual Tension, Sexuality Crisis, idiots (eventually) in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddieseyeliner/pseuds/freddieseyeliner
Summary: Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.





	1. One

A glance at his wrist watch confirmed it- the three others were late. Brian thought about the scolding he would’ve gotten from his parents if he’d arrived thirty minutes past due. Or if he’d gotten less than perfect on his exams. Or if he’d gone over to a friend’s on a school night.

He hadn’t exactly had an adventurous adolescence.

Pulled from his thoughts as a loud clattering shattered the silence of the run down flat he made his way toward to noise. A sigh escaped his lips as he marked missing cabinet door on the previous damage form. The flat might have been literally falling apart in front of his eyes but the astrophysics student held onto some optimism.

Going into his third year he was first on all his courses. He more than maintained the appropriate grade point average to keep his scholarship. This meant he could cut his hours down a bit at the animal shelter and, if he was lucky, start up music again.

Smiling eyes fell on the well padded case of Red Special.

The gangly man considered taking her out for a few songs while he waited on his new flatmates in order to calm his nerves. As he had applied for the small flat through a letting agency he hadn’t met the three others yet. All he knew is what he had gleaned from their application packets, which had been dispersed among them once they’d all been selected- no small feat in the competitive London rental market. Brian knew their names and that they were also students, interested in music and young. He secretly hoped none of them would be too rambunctious so he could maintain his intense study schedule and structured extracurricular activities.

It seemed the universe laughed in his face as the door burst open then and brought forth a force of chaos and calamity. Beat up purple converse, long fluffy blonde locks, lit cigarette hanging between pink lips, impossible blue doe eyes, was that mascara? Was that an adam’s apple? Was that a woman’s blouse?

Was that a boy or a girl?

The low voice that lead him to believe his new flatmate had been on quite a bender the night before answered the question for him. Boy. Well, man. Brian felt a snake of hot shame flush his veins for initially thinking this man attractive.

“Gimme a hand will ya?”

Brian startled and rushed forward to help the smaller man with the precariously stacked boxes in his arms.

After sorting out the boxes in the living area, both agreeing to wait until the others showed up to divvy up bedrooms, the man stuck out his smaller and significantly calloused hand.

“Roger Meddows Taylor, second year biology student, automotive shop assistant and, not to brag, but the best thing to ever come out of Cornwall.” He exhaled a large cloud of smoke into Brian’s face who managed to sputter out his own name and course of study while refusing to inhale.

Cushions caved slightly as Roger threw himself onto the sofa. Dirt clad shoes perched on a throw pillow.

Who the legitimate fuck did this man think he was?

Feet planted firmly in his blindly white clogs Brian had no idea how to react. The boastful brashness of this self absorbed little brat was truly-

“You play any good?” The glistening ruby surface of his most prized possession was streaked with alien fingerprints as the blonde handled the instrument.

The final nail fell in Roger Taylor’s coffin then.

“You can’t smoke indoors, take your shoes off if you’re going to sprawl over the sofa like some spoiled French duke, learn how to read a clock and for the love of God put down Red Special!”

The gangly man’s outburst had little effect on Roger who replied with a roll of those doe eyes as he gently set down Brian’s guitar.

A thick silence fell over them making Brian squirm. He suspected Roger felt perfectly at ease as he drummed across their ring marred coffee table with drumsticks he produced from his back pocket. Brian felt himself tapping his foot along to the well executed beat against his will. Well if he was going to live with this menace of a man he might as well try and find something in common.

“So, uh,” Brian shifted in armchair to better face his companion inwardly cursing himself for letting his eyes linger on the angel faced drummer’s lips, “what genres are you into?”

“I’m pretty into glam rock right now. Ya know? Like from the 70s?”

A relieved smile wormed its way onto Brian’s face despite his lingering annoyance.

“Hendrix and Bolan are my heros. Children of the Revolution is one of favourites to play- when I have the time anyways. With classes starting again soon I’m not sure how much leisure time I’m going to have.”

“Ha! You would!” A drum stick poked at his hair. “A nest of curls like that of course you like Bolan!” An odd hot sensation rose in Brian’s chest as Roger reached out and pulled at a curl with his fingers this time. He laughed jovially as Brian swatted him away.

“Aren’t you militant about personal space. Besides I’ll have all the time I want to play Bolan or MUD or Bowie. I’m aiming to please with a 40% attendance rate” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“You’re one to talk. You look like Debbie Harry.” Brian gestured to the drummer’s long blonde locks. He paused to consider if his next words were particularly wise or not. Noting his flatmate’s apparent nonchalant attitude he plowed on. “I, ah, I couldn’t actually tell when you first came in if- are you listening to me?”

Roger had sped up considerably and was currently headbanging to his own makeshift drum solo.

“What- should I be?”

“Nevermind.” While his tone was icy towards his rude companion his thoughts fled in significantly different directions.

As Roger’s miniature concert continued Brian couldn’t help but note how his hair stuck to his lips and his eyes fell partially shut, as if in ecstasy, as the beat rang out. Brian’s guilty eyes fell to the floor as his mind filled in the other situations in which Roger would be making that half lidded mouth agape expression. Trying to reason with himself that he only felt attracted to Roger because he looked so very feminine his thoughts fell back in time.

He could still feel the gravel cutting into his knees and cheek as the older boys pushed him onto the pavement his photos still held out tauntingly above him. The class project had required the young boys to bring in baby photos of themselves and, while Brian had been ashamed of the ones he had, he hadn’t expected this response. His mother, pregnant with a girl, had a late miscarriage before having him. Tight on money at the time they often dressed Brian in the dresses they’d gotten for their expected baby girl. He had eventually out grown them and new, boys, clothes had been purchased. But he’d always felt it; how his parents wished for a daughter instead of a son. But now here he was, four older boys above him, screaming slurs at him. The kindest of which was freak. One pulled down his trousers just to check ‘he had one’. After that day Brian no longer sat on his mother’s bed and watched her apply her makeup as he used to. Instead he went out front with his father to watch him fix the car or tinker with the electrical wiring in the garage.

Realistically he knew this was none of Roger’s fault but couldn’t help the disgust he felt at his freedom of expression. Was it disgust? Perhaps jealousy was more fitting a word.

A sharp knock rang out, partially muffled by Roger’s antics. Brian threw his hands up in the air realizing Roger had no intent on quieting down or answering the door.

A family that looked quite out of place in the old building stood at the threshold. The woman with a smooth perm and pearls, the older man in a sports coat and the boy- well he looked like he could perhaps belong. A mop of unruly frizz sprung from his head, what looked to be an original ABBA tour t shirt tucked into bleach stained denim and scuffed up trainers. He could hear Sidewalk Sinner blaring from the headphones around the boy’s neck. The boy’s father hit him on the shoulder.

“John! Say something.” The boy- John’s jaw clenched and his eyes widened in panic.

Brian felt a pang of both annoyance and sympathy. He didn’t have time for a kid just getting on his feet in the big city to be following after him like a puppy dog but he could see the kid was distressed.

“I’m Brian you must be one of our flatmates? Roger is already here and we’re waiting on one other. Was supposed to be a friend of mine, Tim Staffel, but he’s transferred to a different university so it will be a guy called Freddie Bulsara.” He saw John’s parents raise their eyebrows slightly at the exotic name. Inviting them in he stepped aside.

“Well this is,” John’s mother looked around, eyes wide with concern, at the scraped wooden floors covered in colourful threadbare rugs and the plethora of dusty lamps hunched over understuffed velvetine sofas, “cozy.”

Brian and Roger both stuck out their hands to John who then looked overwhelmed and was unable to pick who’s hand to shake first. Brian resisted the urge to yell something at this meek kid who clearly wasn’t ready to be away from home yet.

Brushing off their offers to help Brian and Roger were left alone in the flat as John and his family went down to the car to retrieve John’s duffel bag. Apparently not used to thin walled buildings, or they simply didn’t care, their voices floated down the hall and back into the flat.

“Sweetheart just let us give you some money for your own place!”

“No, I like it here. I have the job at the record shop and the university is only thirty minutes away by tube. I can do this myself mum.” The voice was surprisingly commanding and Brian considered the fact he may have miscalculated the boy’s personality.

“Well don’t start dressing like that blonde one. He looks like a girl for Christ’s sake! Probably never done a day of real work in his life.”

Roger scoffed at the comment. “Oh like the guy who has a maid iron pleats into his trousers has ever done any work other than throwing around money- ow!” Brian’s elbow connected with his ribs in an attempt to keep them from being caught eavesdropping.

John’s answer to his father surprised Brian yet again. “At least I don’t have the dress sense of a middle aged accountant trying to add meaning to his empty life by spicing things up with an argyle pocket square.”

Both men had to cover their mouths to muffle their laughter. Perhaps John wasn’t half bad.

“Oh John shush now!” Their voices trailed off as they descended the stairs.

Now John’s belongings, neatly labeled in what was clearly his mother’s handwriting, were stacked up beside the couch his parents lingered at the doorway saying goodbye. Roger eyed the bass guitar in amongst the carefully taped boxes. Brian’s cheeks burned when, after examining him from afar, John’s mother turned to face her son and reminded him to get a haircut lest his curly hair grow out of control and he look like a hippie.

“Wouldn’t let you get away with that in the military. Your brothers send their regards by the way. You should really get back in contact with them; the military has lots of options for engineers. The pay is good as well.” John’s father droned on for ten more minutes while Roger and Brian sat on the couch pretending they couldn’t hear John getting chewed out for his clothing choice to lack of social skills by his father. The speech ended with the eloquent statement that John wasn’t a ‘real man’ like his brothers. Brian watched as Roger rolled his eyes at that last part. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for their youngest flatmate.

“I’ll phone you later mum. Have a safe drive back.” John’s voice was flat but somehow managed to sound cutting all the same.

“I’ll put you on with your father when you ring as well.”

“Oh, I don’t know if my delicate feminine ears could take listening for so very long but we’ll see.” A sharp click of the door signaled the fact that John had ended their goodbyes.

Before either Roger or Brian could get a word in edgewise to their baffling flatmate he had flattened out his hair with the bridge of his headphones. Muffled synthetic beats drifted around John as he settled into an armchair with his head on his knees apparently quite content to wait for their fourth and final roommate before bedroom assignment began.

Roger raised his eyebrows at Brian who just shrugged. He was sure it was hard on John, this being his first time away from his parents, and having been scolded by his father infront of his new flatmates. Roger left the couch and wondered to the kitchen.

“God, I’m starving! Brian do we have any food?”

“First I’d be happy to remind you were supposed to meet here early to go grocery shopping. Second why do you assume I’d have gotten some food between two hours ago and now?”

With Roger being suspiciously silent Brian found himself in the kitchen to investigate. Eyes narrowed on his thieving flatmate who had clearly been through Brian’s stuff to find a box of cashew and date based granola bars which were currently sitting on the floor next to the blonde who had a horrified look on his face.

“These things are fucking disgusting Brian! No wonder you’re so thin!”

“Well should you want to avoid them in the future may I suggest not going through my things?” Looming above him in what he hoped was a threatening fashion Brian narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t be such a food fascist Bri! Sharing is caring and all that.” Roger didn’t bother hiding the smirk on his face. God it was easy to annoy Brian; not to mention fun.

“A fascist?! What do want us all to have some sort of communal food stash? I’m not eating what an animal abusing-”

The relaxed aura that seemed to permeate Roger’s very being vanished like smoke as he jumped up. “What the hell you mean animal abusing?”

“You eat meat don’t you? Drink milk? The meat and dairy industry perpetuates a systemic abuse of animals the general public has chosen to ignore for their own greedy desires.”

Roger took a step closer. They would’ve been nose to nose if it weren’t for their significant height difference. At this distance Brain could see his earlier assessment had been incorrect. Roger wasn’t wearing mascara but simply had rather thick eyelashes brimming his perpetually partially closed eyes. The astrophysics student licked his suddenly dry lips.

“Oh, and I suppose with that holier than you attitude you don’t?” To punctuate his last word Roger placed a surprisingly strong hand on Brian’s chest which would’ve caused butterflies to rise in his stomach if he had finished the action by shoving him back.

Brian felt anger swell in him and overtake any other pleasant feelings he had built with Roger.

“I thought John would be the entitled brat around here but you can’t go one second without forcing your problems on everyone else!”

“And what exactly have I done to upset his royal majesty?” Hearing the commotion John had come into the kitchen and, quite apparently, heard the last bit of their conversation.

Roger smirked in triumph now that he felt he had someone on his side or, at the very least, against Brian.

“Look I just mean you’re young and your parents obviously have money so I mistakenly thought you might be a bit pretentious.” Brian tried to make his voice as neutral as possible in hopes of winning John back so they could both tell Roger how ridiculous he was being.

“Just because you think I’m attractive doesn’t mean-”

Brian gaped at Roger. “Don’t- accuse me- I don’t- you’re not even- I’m straight!” His anger was deeply seated in his brain and making coherent sentences hard. That was the problem. Definitely not the shock of being called out so blatantly.

“Oh I’ve seen you oggling my ass when you think I’m not looking.”

“Christ.”” John muttered.

Brian rolled his eyes at his idiot of a flatmate. He wasn’t even looking at his ass. He was looking at his baby blue eyes. Shit.

“Hey Roger this might be news to you but not everyone wants to fuck you!” Brian hoped he’d injected enough venom into his voice.

“I’m not sure if I’m qualified to be part of this conversation.” Fuzzy sock clad feet started shuffling backwards out of the kitchen as John tried to escape the arguement’s rather sexual escalation.

Without so much as a knock the door swung open for the fourth time that day to reveal their last flatmate. All three current inhabitants froze in the midst of yelling. Roger with a mug in his hand Brian was quite sure he was going to smash if Freddie hadn’t shown up.

“You must be Freddie Bulsara.” Brian trailed off awkwardly. He had to wonder if their new flatmate found their behaviour strange given the purplish bruise that adorned Freddie’s high cheekbone.

“No, darling,” he dropped his suitcase on the floor, shirt sleeves poking out, indicating it was packed in a rush, it was seemingly his only possession, “Freddie Mercury.” He raised his hands in a flourish that made the other three residents quirk their eyebrows. 

Brian wasn’t one to judge people on their looks but, well, Freddie did look rather, gay. His dark hair fell in waves just past his chin, he seemed to be wearing eyeliner, the black and burgundy velvet kimono he was wearing was jeweled with beaded tassels, to say nothing of his need to refer to other men as darling.

To Brian’s surprise John spoke up.

“I’m John Deacon,” an unsure smile spread across his slightly gapped teeth, “an engineering student in my first year.”

“Well Deaky,” John flushed slightly at the new nickname, probably just happy to be included in something, “that’s all well and good but I would absolutely love to know what you ladies were arguing about before my grand entrance?”

Roger laughed, the haze of anger around him seeming to have dissipated. “Come on Brian, darling, tell Mr. Mercury what we were arguing about.” Brian knew Roger was only doing this to make him uncomfortable.

“You’re late.” Brian turned on his heel and walked from the kitchen. “We need to pick out rooms- are you coming or not?” He walked on not really caring if they came with him. All he wanted to do was curl up on his bed and sleep and pretend he hadn’t met this insane group of people. A little voice in the back of his mind reminded him he couldn’t sleep yet anyways; there was prereading to do, research on his professors, brushing up on material from last semester. He pinched the bridge of his nose willing his headache to subside. There most certainly wasn’t time to eat- not that he had been recently.

“Darling do slow down, we don’t all have the stature of a giraffe. Besides it wasn’t even my fault I was late!”

“What happened? Someone try to harvest them for ivory and it slowed you down?” Roger teased gesturing to Freddie’s mouth.

“Oh do try and come up with something more original. I’ve heard them all by now.”

“Well then what was it?” Brian ventured, trying to derail Freddie and Roger’s banter.

“Darling it was nothing.”

Brian felt silly even having asked. It was quite clear from the bruise on his face, to the hastily packed suitcase what had happened. Not every family was accepting of their children.

“Can you stop it with that? My name’s Brian!” He snapped knowing full well the comment was unnecessary but his patience had worn a bit too thin.

“Jesus Brian let the guy live! So he’s a bit camp; he’s not coming onto a skinny frizzy haired freak like you!” The comments normally wouldn’t have hurt him but coming from Roger they cut deep. He clenched his jaw. Freak.

Freddie dropped his suitcase with a thud; his brows were knit together and his oversized teeth bit into his bottom lip.

Roger paused. “I mean you are, ah, you are gay, aren’t you?”

Feeling bad about his earlier comment, and wanting revenge on Roger, Brian cut in before Freddie could answer.

“You can’t judge people based on how they look Roger,” he made sure his tone was painfully condescending, “I mean I thought you were a girl when I first saw you.” He added the last part with venom hoping to elicit a response from the feminine blonde.

He got a response but it was galaxies away from what he was hoping for. Or maybe in a way it was exactly what he wanted.

“So? Lots of folks think I’m a bird; lots of folks think I’m a bloke. It doesn’t really matter does it?” The answer scrambled Brian’s brain. The surity with which Roger announced these little constructs didn’t matter floored him. He was used to a black and white world; he was used to structure not chaos.

“I mean it matters a bit doesn’t it? You’re a biology student. You know-”

“Brian we get it you’re straight. Now can we skip the rest of this lecture and sort out rooms?” Freddie raised his hand to his forehead. “I’m absolutely exhausted!”

“Fine, on the count of three lets all just say who we’d rather share with.” The others nodded in agreement surveying the two small rooms in their four person flat. Ah, how very London.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“John!”

“Deaky!”

“John!”

The aforementioned looked at his feet and muttered something about not caring.

Brian should’ve seen this coming given John was the only one who hadn’t picked a fight with any of them yet.

“Well I’m not sharing with Brian! He’s a vegan or something and he’ll make me throw away my leather trousers!” Freddie gasped at the prospect of Roger losing something so precious.

“Brian doesn’t think we should keep meat in the fridge either!” Roger continued.

“Where should we keep it? The sink? Our pants?” Freddie waggled his eyebrows as he spoke.

“We have to be sympathetic he’s very bravely come out of the closet as… a vegan.” Roger broke down laughing at his own joke.

“Well I’m not sharing with someone who punctuates every sentence with darling or fuck! Or an entitled asshole who’s going to fail all his courses!” Brian flung back.

“I wouldn’t want to share with you either! You’d probably get up early and make me eat oatmeal with you and do yoga!” Freddie flung his arm out as he spoke catching Roger in the face.

“Bloody hell! Could you fucking not?”

“Sorry dear I-”

“Again with the dear?”

The slamming of the door interrupted their fight. Looking around Brian realized John was gone.

“Well he had the right idea.” Roger lamented.

Brian felt guilt build up to a screaming pressure in his head, pushing mercilessly against his brain. The fridge door was open and masking tape labels marked a shelf for each of them. Their school schedules had been plucked from their belongings and highlighted. Brian and Roger both had morning classes while Freddie and John both had afternoons. Their names were circled in that order with an arrow pointing to separate rooms.

“Look at this.” Brian gestured to his findings.

“Huh.”

“Suppose Deaky has a point.”

“Think he’s okay? I mean he’s young and not used to the city.” Brian pondered.

“God you’re such a control freak!” Roger called at him as he slammed the door of what was now their bedroom closed and turned MUD’s Last Tango in London up to a deafening volume.

Brian peered at Freddie who was standing next to the open fridge. “Close that will you? We don’t want to waste electricity.”

“I cannot with you right now!” His long fingers plucked Brian’s shelf from the fridge and hurled it across the kitchen. He stormed out and slammed the door. Then opened it. Then slammed it again.

“I get the point!” Brian yelled into the hallway at his retreating figure.

Broken fridge shelf. For the second time that day Brian found himself alone in the sitting room wishing the world would swallow him whole.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.

Panic engulfed John as he cracked open his sleep encrusted eyes. Unfamiliar furniture dotted his room and strange voices drifted in from outside his door. It wasn’t until he shoved himself up against the wall, hitting his head on a shelf, breathing hard, he remembered where he was. Embarrassment clouded his mind as he rummaged through boxes he hadn’t unpacked yet looking for clean clothes.

Sleep clumsy hands pulled on the garments as quietly as possible not wanting to alert the others to his presence.

Chewing his lip he hesitated at the door after pulling on yesterday’s jeans and a neon yellow jumper. As a child and into most of his teenage years he often cried out during the night leaving his mother to rush into his room to check on him. Eventually she’d stopped coming. John would’ve certainly jumped off the fire escape if Freddie had heard him whimpering in his sleep.

Checking his watch and realizing it wasn’t feasible to wait for them all to leave before he emerged from his and Freddie’s room as he didn’t know where he was going and hoped to tag along with one of the other boys. Brian had offered yesterday and he hoped it still stood after last night’s fight. None of them had spoken since.

Ducking his head he shuffled into the kitchen hoping to remain unnoticed.

“Sleeping Beauty has decided to grace us with her presence!” Freddie snickered as John blushed.

Roger threw a piece of toast at his head. “Brekkie’s ready!” It hit him in the face causing them all to laugh. John wanted to curl up and die. He was sure his face was the colour of the patchy red rug that lay in the hall.

He picked up the toast from the floor and curled up in a chair. “Coffee?” Brian set down the mug next to him as he nodded. Freddie, Brian and Roger stood in a semi circle around him.

How concerning.

“So, uh, we were talking this morning and realized Brian- ow!” Brian’s elbow connected with Freddie’s ribs. “Realized we were being a bit hot headed last night. Sorry you had to sort everything out for us.”

“We appreciated it.” Brian added while Roger nodded.

John contemplated weather this could be a joke. They all looked fairly serious; Freddie even seemed concerned about his reaction. He licked his dry lips.

“I mean we can revisit this on a monthly basis but as long as you continue making my breakfast every morning, perhaps even a packed lunch, I suppose I could forgive you all.”

One beat of silence. Two. Three.

Freddie’s laugh rang through the room. His hand quickly coming up to cover his teeth and the other two joined him.

“Deaky,” Brian co-opted Freddie’s nickname for him, “ you had us going for a second there.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of strewn clothes as Roger looked for an acceptable outfit for the day, steam seeping from the bathroom as Freddie continued with what must have been a 40 minute shower and muffled sighs from Brian as he organized the groceries he had bought earlier than morning and then reorganized them after John rooted through to find bread and cheese for his packed lunch. He physically recoiled at the sight of something called nut cheese and decided to buy lunch at the cafeteria that day.

Slotting notebooks into his rucksack John just missed Brian leaving in a flurry of papers and colour coded tabs. No problem, he’d go with Freddie or Roger.

A blur of blonde and floral silk streaked past him towards the exit at a frantic speed. “Hey Roger can I-” His voice trailed off awkwardly as the door slammed again. Well Freddie was still here. He slouched down by the door to ensure he wouldn’t miss his dark haired flatmate. He doubted, with how dramatic Freddie was, that he’d be able to miss him anyways.

Twenty minutes later silence was the only thing inhabiting the flat. Well that and an increasingly worried bassist. He pulled himself up from the floor and winced at the cracking noise his joints made. Sometimes John thought he was secretly 80 years old and this adolescents thing was all an elaborate joke.

“Hey? Fred?” His curly head poked into their shared room and found it empty. He kicked the door jamb and instantly regretted it as the wood splintered and slivers assaulted his foot.

Freddie must’ve slipped out before Brian. Well fuck. He plucked the slivers from his foot and laced up his trainers. He waited a few minutes hoping someone would materialize to help him.

Alas.

I can do this the younger boy reasoned with himself. It’s just the second biggest city in the world. What could go wrong?

Armed with a tube map and his headphones he ventured out into the impersonal cold of London.

—

It had technically been his own fault for not bringing a coat; yet, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance three hours later running into Brian on campus.

“You look freezing Deaky.” John clenched his jaw. “Wasn’t orientation for new students a few hours ago?”

“Yeah I missed it- got lost.”

“Time management is an important part of university- speaking of which I’m needing to be off to my next class. Do you know where you’re going?”

Well at least Brian had been helpful- afterall, the rising anger in John’s chest warmed him significantly.

“About five hours off with that one.”

“Hmm?” Brian looked at him with raised eyebrows having been distracted by something behind John who turned to see-

Roger snogging some girl against the biology building. Rolling his eyes he walked away from Brian towards the cafeteria hoping some hot coco might simmer his nerves and warm his numb fingers. Maybe they’d even have some cheesy toast.

His plans shattered as he rounded the corner. His senses assaulted by colours, noises and what seemed to be an unbearable throng of people jostling around him. As it was the first day back at the university a panoply of booths adversitiving clubs and societies had been set up along the main promenade.

With shaking hands John pushed his headphones back into his ears in an attempt to drown out the mash of voices worming their way into his brain.

Eyes darting for an exit from the ruckus, John knew he was being childish. That’s what his parents always told him. He remembered Christmas shopping with his mum one year, tears streaming down as face, as the crowded streets pulsed around them. He made such a scene they had to go home before they’d even bought anything. He could still hear his father’s voice ringing in his ears.

Desperately retracing his steps and giving up any chance of food today he felt an icy dripping sensation encapsulate his head while helium seemed to have replaced his brain. He could no longer make out the lyrics of Night Fever as the beating of his heart drowned it out.

The three minutes it took to find a bathroom stall in the engineering wing to lock himself in felt like a millennium.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent crouched on the tile floor, head thrumming, but by the time he could move again his legs prickled with pins and needles and his neck had cramped.

—

Loaded down with homework and significant guilt on the tube ride home John started thinking his parents were right. He couldn’t do this. There were too many people yet not one had wanted to sit next to John in classes. Even his flatmates didn’t seem interested in him. Perhaps he could leave tomorrow. Wait until they’d all left for courses or work and sneak out with his things and go back home. He hadn’t even unpacked yet; it would be easy. He wondered if they’d even notice his absence.

Once back home- the flat? Was that home?- wrapped up in his blanket from his childhood room he managed to simultaneously sneeze and have his stomach rumble. He vowed to let himself starve to death before he tried nut cheese.

He knew he could go to the grocery store himself and buy some food but it would still be busy until 8 tonight. He just had to hold out until then and he could avoid the majority of people. Maybe Freddie would go with him?

He doubted it.

His misery as he boredly scribbled homework that was far too easy for him was occasionally interrupted by the nervous pacing of Brian who scraped back his chair, loudly, and did a few laps of the room before sinking back down and neatly sketching equations.

As far as he had gathered Brian was quite literally a genius so he wasn’t sure what was stressing him out so much.

Freddie on the other hand was splayed out on the sofa loudly sighing and occasionally marking his sketchbook. John wasn’t sure if the art student had any intention of actually producing any art.

Roger would be back soon from the automotive shop he helped out at. John had a hard time picturing the hot headed, silk clad blonde with a wrench but he supposed he himself didn’t cut the usual image of an engineer so he shouldn’t judge.

Besides the usual pleasantries the three of them hadn’t spoken. The tension from last night’s fight hadn’t dissipated as much as John had thought this morning. Minds still clouded with sleep were often kinder than those hardened by the cold London air.

“Honey I’m home!” The blonde was nearly obscured by two large boxes he carried snickering at his own joke. Brian pointedly didn’t get up to help and Freddie pretended to suddenly be very interested in his art project.

With a roll of his eyes John threw down his pen and took a box from the oddly dressed man who seemed to think a fur coat, sunglasses and patchwork jeans was a casual outfit. He wondered if he’d borrowed some of Freddie’s clothes.

“Well Deaky’s the only one getting beer at this rate! You all look like miserable sods by the way.” This seemed to have caught Brian and Freddie’s attention who were now standing up and offering to help Roger.

“How’d you afford all this anyways? Yesterday you said you didn’t have enough money for a bus ticket.” Brian suspiciously eyed the cases of beer.

“It doesn’t matter how our lovely friend Roger acquired the beer it just matters that we enjoy it.” Freddie plucked a can from the table.

“A client paid me in beer today for fixing his flat on the side of the A25 and I thought god I know some stuffy bitches who might like to cut loose; so I’ve very kindly decided to share it with you lot.” Roger cracked a can and passed it to John who looked apprehensive.

“We do have classes tomorrow.”

Despite Roger and Freddie’s laughter Brian rushed to his defense. Well not so much his defense as his own self interest.

“John’s right. We shouldn’t go crazy; let’s just have one and then back to work.” John nodded at this very reasonable plan- but then again.

It had been a hellish day. He was leaving tomorrow after all. This could be his last- and first- horrah.

He downed the entire can in 16 seconds, his record was 13, and cracked another.

This earned a hearty cheer from Freddie and a slap on the back from Roger. Brian shook his head but he could see the curly haired man was fighting to keep a smile off his face. A happy heat rose in John’s cheeks as beer sloshed in his empty belly.

It was after five rounds of see-who-could-down-their-beer-the-fastest started by Roger’s competitive streak after he saw John throw the whole can back that Freddie made a suggestion.

“This music is crap!” Roger threw an empty can at the radio blasting the top ten pop hits of the ‘00s. They all dissolved into laughter at Britney Spear’s Hit Me Baby One More Time started up next. Brian, who’s gangly limbs moved in an even more disjointed fashion when drunk, turned off the offending synthetic beat.

“Why don’t we just play our own?” Freddie suggested jumping from the couch excitedly.

“Yeah, you and which instrument?” Roger spun a dumstick in his fingers as he spoke- surprisingly dexterous given the alcohol.

“I can sing!” Freddie crooned in a faux offended tone. Or perhaps vrai offended. John couldn’t really tell. Also his French was crap. And he was, almost certainly, a bit drunk.

“You’re the one who hasn’t set up your kit yet.” Brian pointed to the drums and cymbals littering the sitting room floor while scooping up his own guitar with the care one would typically reserve for a newborn or a nuclear reactor.

“After my kind donation the least you could do is help!” John figured Roger’s proposition was fair and the four of them got to work assembling the drums.

It took the four very talented and very tipsy musicians 40 minutes to set them up. In all fairness 10 minutes had been wasted after John stoically held a screw driver and whispered I’m an engineer which had caused them all to giggle like small school children after which they decided they needed another beer.

With their makeshift stage set and lamps pointing towards them like spotlights, Freddie said to give it the right atmosphere, they paused. There was a strange electric feeling in the air; John didn’t know if it was the alcohol or something deeper.

“Mott?” Freddie suggested. The opening notes of All the Young Dudes flowed through Brian’s guitar with a clarity John had never heard before.

He knew it must have been in his head but he could’ve sworn by the last note they were floating a meter off the floor.

John, Brian and Roger shared an odd look as they examined themselves.

“Like I get we’re plastered, but we sounded killer!” Roger broke the silence in his eloquent fashion. Brian and John were quick to agree.

Freddie looked unsurprised.

“Of course we did darlings. Another?” There was a mischievous spark in Freddie’s eye that made John feel giddy. That made John feel like he belonged. Like they all belonged.

Maybe he wouldn’t leave tomorrow.

—

Keeping to form John was the last one up the next morning. He rubbed his eyes with his oversized BeeGees t shirt hoping his headache would subside. His eyes were so dry he could barely open them to greet his flatmates.

Roger, in nothing but boxer shorts and sunglasses, lay face down on the kitchen floor groaning. “Really Brain please! Just end it all now! I can’t go on!”

Brian, already dressed for the day, and drinking from a waterbottle containing some green sludge, merely stepped over him. “I told you to drink water last night before bed.”

John himself was drawn to the cool kitchen floor- well specifically his throbbing head.

“Room for one more?”

Roger threw his arm over John and flipped off Brian in the process.

While John could hear Brian and Freddie’s muffled argument about the validity of turning the bathroom into a sauna to help with their hangovers (no need to explain who was on which side) he couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. In fact, he was, dare he say, happy?

Fluffy hair picked up crumbs as he turned over and stared at the ceiling, a persistent smile tugged at his lips.

He had felt a kinship with the other three last night he had never expected to feel. People had always thought him freakish for his lack of desire to make any connections. He’d never had a girlfriend and didn’t particularly feel he wanted one. He wasn’t aroused by the curve of a woman’s breast or the bulge in a man’s trousers. He didn’t melt during romance movies or feel a fluttering in his chest on Valentine’s Day. He’d long been called a robot by his peers.

John wanted to feel wanted though. And last night he had.

“You gunna lie there all day?” Brian raised an eyebrow at him as he looked down at the bassist.

“Where’re the others?” He suddenly realized it was just him and Brian left in the flat. He scolded himself for spacing out again. “I don’t work until later today after my 3 o’clock class.” Smiling to himself John mentally prepared the playlist he was going to put on as soon as he got to the record store. He loved it there. Customers rarely bothered him and he could play whatever music he wanted.

“Roger went to class to see if he can, and I quote, scout out any fit nerds to snog.” John noticed the colour on Brian’s cheeks as he spoke. “And our dear Freddie went to a live model art class.”

“Guess that makes sense given his major.” John finally found the strength to peel himself from the floor.

“Oh no- he’s the model. Apparently that’s his part time job; he says it pays well.” Brian shook his head as John giggled at the image of Freddie happily standing on a podium, naked, with lights illuminating him, as a dozen people drew him.

“We should get to unpacking.” Brian observed as their laughter died down. John nodded, the two of them looking guiltily at the box and beer can strewn sitting room.

Not bothering to get changed out of his pajamas John picked up the pot from the coffee maker which he drank directly from as they started unpacking their respective boxes. Or as Roger inexplicably referred to them- cardboard clothes prisons. He was more of a cupboard man John supposed.

John was thankful, as Brian broke the silence that had encapsulated them, scared that the bond between them last night would dissolve in the sunlight.

“Your mum helped you pack?” Brian looked amused as John blushed at the boxes labeled in feminine cursive.

“She can be a bit controlling sometimes- I wasn’t even allowed to fold my own clothes.” He noted pulling out a well pressed pair of trousers.

“Some parents can be quite strict- even in these days.” Brian looked far away for a moment and John grasped a better understanding of the high strung man. His parents behaviour had turned his brothers into brash, cruel men while the same actions had made him skittish. Although he knew he still possessed the same mean streak his family did. He just hid it better. He was sure Brian’s parents always expected more and more of him until he must have felt near breaking point. Maybe he already had broken and running away to London to share a flat with four strangers was an attempt to pick up the pieces.

“What are your plans for the day?”

John’s question dragged Brian back from space.

“Unpack all this, find a recycling plant for these cans, review my notes, do prereading, class, tutoring some younger students, lab, a few hours at the animal shelter, and then make notes from the day’s lecture.”

“Don’t.”

“What?” The younger boy plucked a can out of Brian’s hand and threw it into the kitchen behind them. “John are you mental?”

“Look I get you still have classes and stuff but just stop for a second. We can clean up tonight when everyone’s back- it’s not all your job. I’m sure your notes are fine. No one will know if you skip one study session.” He held out a pinky. “Promise I won’t tell your mum!”

Panic gripped Brian’s face as John climbed over the couch and plugged his amps into the wall.

“Deaky some people are still sleeping we can’t just-”

“Honestly Brian, they can go suck a cock, we’re having a dance party.” ABBA’s Does Your Mother Know blared at a deafening volume. He bopped and jumped around the rug clad floors.

The lanky man looked horrified as John surprised him by grabbing his hands and forcing him to dance as well. Brian was sure at this point he’d never quite figure out John Deacon.

The stiffness in Brian’s limbs subsided as he gave in and danced with the bassist.

By the time they’d worked through ABBA’s entire greatest hits collection they’d unpacked their belongings and scribbled rude notes on Roger and Freddie’s suggesting they do the same.

Collapsing on the sofa John considered that maybe Brian wasn’t all that bad. Perhaps he was just delicate- as they all seemed to be. Brian was seconds away from a full nervous break, Roger was always on the tipping point of a blind rage and Freddie seemed so uncomfortable in his own skin he was willing to light his old life on fire. And John, well, he’d rather be flung into space than shuffle through a sea of faces.

But perhaps, that was why, they were all grasping so wildly at one another.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.

It was well into the evening after he’d finished modeling and caught a few drinks with his peers. His flatmates appeared to already be in bed but he made no effort to keep quiet in the kitchen after seeing the rude note on his suitcase suggesting he clean up his things or shove them up his arse. He’d seen a similar note on Roger’s boxes and assumed the culprit to be Brian. He was sure Deaky, the dear, wouldn’t write such a thing.

His hand hovered over his mobile phone. No. He hadn’t spoken a word to this family since his father, well, he ghosted his thumb over the still purplish skin. One text had been sent to his sister letting her know he was safe. That was it. No time to waste on little people anymore. He had big plans.

But for tonight he’d settle for some chips. His rings clinked against the fridge handle as he slammed it shut. Damn Brian and his healthy vegan ways!

Counting the change leftover in his pocket after drinks he headed down to the shop next door to their flat on the right. Well, he thought it to be on the right but discovered only later it was indeed the left. He’d never been particularly observant. Which is why, he supposed, he was able to walk directly into a flower shop and up to the counter and demandingly ring the bell before noticing this was not a chippy.

A lilting Irish accent appeared before the man in question. “I’ll be there in a second!” And a man he was. Dark messy hair and a healthy stubble adorned the Irishman. As well as the kindest, warmest eyes Freddie had ever seen.

It was then he noticed the leaf in the man’s hair. And strewn across the shop. And the flowers. This was a flower shop. He shared his stunning observation with the florist who had no right being that attractive under fluorescent lights and neon signs.

“This is a flower shop.” He sounded tipsier than he wanted. He meant to sound charming.

“Explains the flowers doesn’t it?” His smile reached his soft eyes leaving them to crinkle like the discarded petals around them.

“I, ah, thought this was a chippy.” He always hated how that word sounded in his accent. Chippy. He made a note to listen to Brian or Roger say it more closely.

“Other side of the flats.”

They stood there in silence. The florist seemed annoyingly smug about the whole thing. Like he knew how that warm smile made his own stomach fill with butterflies and all the intelligent thoughts leave his head.

“The chippy is probably closed you took so long coming from the back.” Freddie instantly regretted his choice of phrasing and felt colour dance on his face. He was thankful then for the pink neon sign that hung above them, obscuring it.

“Sometimes it’s more fun if you take a while.” Freddie could’ve sworn he winked. Fine two could play at this game.

“You could at least give me a flower for my troubles you know.” He leaned across the counter and rested his hand on his propped up fist. “I’ve got nowhere to be now.”

“I don’t give flowers to strangers.” The Irishman mirrored his own position; their faces were inches apart.

“Freddie Mercury. Art student- 3rd year. Soon to be famous.”

“Is that so Mr. Mercury? What are you going to get famous for exactly?”

“I don’t tell strangers my greatest aspirations dear.”

“Jim Hutton.”

Freddie swallowed. What a beautiful name.

“I’m a singer.”

“You’ve got a band?”

“Give it a week and I’d say so.”

Jim laughed at that. God did he ever have a nice laugh.

“Right, a flower for Freddie Mercury, the soon to be famous singer without a band.” Jim broke their eye contact then to rummage through bunches of brightly coloured foliage. Oh, he had a nice cock as well. Freddie didn’t try to hide the fact he was staring at the bulge in Jim’s jeans.

Jim skimmed past the freesias and roses. Past the daisies and tulips. His fingers curled around the delicate stem of a small white blossom.

“What does it mean?”

Jim leaned back on the counter and reached up to tuck the flower behind Freddie’s ear.

“Not everything means something.”

“You’re a shit florist.”

“I need to close up the shop. You let me know when your band has a gig Freddie Mercury.”

He was so delighted he forgot to cover his mouth when he smiled. The shorter man nodded as he brushed the flower petals with his thumb and forefinger. The neon blush still covered his cheeks as he reached for the door.

“And Freddie?” Jim called after him. “I should let you know I do have a boyfriend.”

A gentle laugh floated back to Jim who responded.

“What?”

“Give it a week dear.”

Later that night, arm around his sleeping partner, Jim couldn’t help but let thoughts of the brash dark haired man dance around his head.

—

“What’s that for?”

Freddie smacked Brian’s hand away from the white blossoms sitting in a mug of water on the kitchen counter.

“Jealous I have an admirer?”

“You could’ve been quieter getting in last night.” Brian skimmed the back of the cereal box, noted the caloric intake, and then returned it to its shelf unopened. “Let’s have it then.”

“Have what?”

“Oh, we know you’re dying to tell us about it, come’on.” John added onto Brian’s demand as he took the cereal the other man had abandoned and poured himself a bowl as Freddie looked on in glee.

Well someone had to bring some fun to these lonely sods! Too bad Roger was already gone to classes. Although, out of the four of them Roger was most certainly getting the most action so he probably didn’t need to rely on Freddie’s tales for excitement.

He pulled out his phone and turned it around to show them Jim’s profile. It had taken significant skill to narrow down the long list but no one could facebook stalk like Freddie Mercury.

“Irish.”

“He has a mustache.”

Neither Brian nor John seemed to grasp how delectable Jim was.

“He has a huge cock too.”

“Jesus Freddie!”

“What did you do in that flower shop?”

He snickered at their horror.

“Relax darlings, he has a boyfriend, for now. I simply observed my surroundings. Anyways, Jim thought I was so lovely he gave me flowers.”

“A flower.” Brian held up one finger as if Freddie couldn’t count.

“Kinda looks like it’s dying.” John prodded it.

Freddie snatched the mug off the table and marched into his and John’s room to gently place it on his bedside table. If they weren’t going to appreciate it they didn’t deserve it.

By the time Freddie had found his favourite satin trousers and tight star speckled vest Roger had gone to classes and Brian had left to go save hedgehogs or something. He wasn’t really sure what the physics student did at the animal shelter as when he explained it Freddie had chosen not to listen; unlike Roger who was uncharacteristically hanging off every word. What a sap.

“Hey Cher Horowitz does it really take you 40 minutes to pick out an outfit?” Deaky called out as he emerged from his room.

“I have to look my best disco boy,” a nickname his ABBA obsession had quickly won him, “I have an important meeting today.” Although, it wasn’t necessarily all true. Only half the time had gone into colour matching his red velveteen blazer while the other twenty minutes had been pulled down to street level by a certain Irishman.

From his bedroom window Freddie had an unobstructed view of the alley behind their flat and therefore- the nextdoor flower shop. Confused at first by Jim bending down and smiling while lingering in the alley much longer than a smoke break permitted Freddie tugged the curtains open a bit further and realized Jim Hutton was indeed his dream man. The scruffy florist was feeding and playing with the stray cats that paced their borrow’s streets seemingly unconcerned by their uncleanliness.

“An important meeting?” John enquired while making a sandwich out of two Poptarts and a thick layer of sickly sweet orange marmalade. Freddie was quite sure John would get diabetes before his 25th birthday. At least he ate more often than Brian, although, none of them could come close to their delicate appearing blonde flatmate who had eaten leftover sushi, two sausages, a piece of toast and half a can of Pringles for breakfast just that morning. Freddie’s long fingers fished around in the cupboard for some instant oats and honey.

“It’s my first time going to the university’s LGBT club.” He couldn’t help the hush that snuck into his voice. He never wanted to be a poster boy for anything but if the last year had taught him anything it was the importance of having a safe place to express your thoughts. Plus he knew there were at least two delectable men who attended those meetings as well.

“Oh.” Crumbs gathered in the corners of John’s mouth. Freddie bit his lip as he waited for John to elaborate. He never did.

A terse silence screamed into the dark haired boy’s ear. Was their youngest flatmate bothered by his, well as his parents had insisted upon phrasing it, chosen lifestyle? Chosen. Freddie rolled his eyes.

“Oh what?”

Finishing his mouthful John answered. “I’ve just always been, uh, curious about that I guess.” He refused to lift his eyes to meet Freddie’s. “Not really sure about-”, he quickly shoved more of his sugary breakfast concoction into his mouth, “myself sometimes.”

He could feel his gaze melt as the fluffy haired boy picked at his nails. He knew what it was like to be young and confused and in need of a helping hand.

“Did you want to tag along? You don’t need to talk or anything.” He quickly added as John’s eyes grew in horror.

“I read about being asexual or aromantic or something.” By now the younger boy had fully turned around and was scraping loudly at his dish in the sink. “I don’t know what the rules are, or if I’m allowed to-”

“John dear, the whole point is to help people feel more comfortable with themselves; you’re more than welcome. In fact,” John finally looked over as Freddie flourished his arms above his head, “I decree it!”

It took twenty more minutes and four more reassurances he could leave if he felt uncomfortable to convince John to accompany Freddie to his meeting.

Although he was a bit annoyed at John for throwing off his schedule, rendering Freddie unable to pop into the flower shop to ask Jim about the stray cats (and if he was still with his wretched boyfriend), it quickly melted over the tube journey to the university as John kept smiling at his feet and asking if his hair was too frizzy. It was but Freddie didn’t have the heart to crush him and lied, mentally swearing to buy the younger boy some leave in conditioner when his next paycheque came in.

As the two curious flatmates walked into the university’s meeting room Freddie could feel John getting closer and closer to him. He swore he could hear John’s frantic heartbeat as three others entered the room bringing the total number of occupants up to 14.

Hoping to take distract the distraught engineering student until the meeting officially started Freddie caught John’s attention with a hand on the younger boy’s own. Seeing his knit brows relax Freddie continued holding the bassist’s hand despite his own feeling of awkwardness about it.

As much as he liked Deaky, as a friend- in fact John was his favourite out of the lot of his flatmates, no offense to Roger or Brian- Freddie didn’t want to drive off any potential partners by giving the impression he and John were together. After all he did need to make Jim jealous somehow.

“So you said there were guys here you wanted to check out?” Although he was clearly not happy with the subject matter he pushed ahead for the sake of Freddie who relented.

Dammit, he thought, I really can’t stay mad at him for long- he is just too damn sweet!

“I’m livid- Peter said there was an absolutely gorgeous angel eyed blonde guy here but the only blonde is that woman by the nametags.” Freddie gestured frustratedly to the long haired woman in a flowery tunic and velvetine leggings. “At least she’s well dressed.”

“Uh, Freddie, I think that’s actually Ro-”

“What, are you two shagging already?” The aforementioned blonde woman turned around with Roger’s face in tow. Well, that is, the blonde woman actually was Roger. So the not blonde woman who was in fact Roger turned around and ribbed them.

“You’re supposed to wear name badges with pronouns you nunces. Do I have to do everything around here?” Without so much as waiting for a reply Roger grabbed their two free hands and dragged them over to the table outfitted with Sharpies and sticky name badges.

The art student then understood how Brian had initially been confused by Roger’s gender.

John’s face glowed pink as he tried to retract his hand from Freddie’s who held on firmly.

“Dear, it is our first time here, and my hand was cold.”

“Just your left hand?”

“Yep.”

“Whatever you say lover boy.”

Roger’s surprisingly strong hand flattened out a badge on Freddie and John’s chests reading ‘he/him’.

“That is right? Isn’t it? Of all people I shouldn’t assume.” Roger finished with a snicker as he gestured to his own where he had simply written ‘couldn’t care less’.

Freddie gave a small nod as he made a mental note to scream at his seatmate in textile design, Peter Freestone, for trying to set him up with his own uppity flatmate.

“I’d prefer ‘only functioning member of the household’ on mine please Rog.” The bassist volunteered.

“Ha! We were both passed out on the kitchen floor yesterday morning- functioning my arse!”

“Fine how about ‘functioning as well as he can given the circumstances and people around him’?” John ventured cheekily.

“That’s a bit of a mouthful my dear, unless of course that’s what you’re into?” Freddie raised a perfectly dark eyebrow at two of his three now laughing flatmates.

After the club president, a short man named Reg who put even Freddie’s flamboyant outfits to shame, started the meeting with some general admin he suggested they all walk around and get to know one another.

This of course meant Roger, John and Freddie stuck together and most certainly did not interact with the rest of the group. While, two of the three of the group were happy to go make friends most of the time, a rather content energy had encapsulated them all.

“Honestly Roger, with the amount of girls I’ve seen you snogging on campus already I kind of thought you were straight.” Freddie admitted feeling an odd tightness in his stomach discussing such things freely. It was the same way he’d felt when Kash caught him smudging her black eyeliner across his lids when they were teenagers. She’d never told their parents, but, from then on seemed to look right through him. Right into his soul. He could tell from her face she knew. He felt ashamed. He still felt ashamed.

“I saw him in the engineering building with my classmate Trevor. Well I think it was Trevor; Roger was sucking his face too hard for me to really see much.” A smirk danced in John’s eyes as he stretched his legs up and rested his feet on the table.

“Oh was that his name?” Roger squinted into the distance as if trying to recall the particular man. “Anyways, gender, none of it matters to me, not mine, not anyone else’s. Life’s too short not to get every lay you can.”

“Be careful that was almost philosophical until you saved it at the end.”

“Yeah you came dangerously close to a smart thought there Rog.” Freddie added to John’s barb with a jovial smile.

“Oh like you two can talk! Give it to me then. Birds? Blokes? Both?” Roger ventured. Despite their playful argument Freddie could hear the uncertainty in the blonde’s voice. He genuinely didn’t seem to want to pressure them into saying anything before they were ready.

Freddie decided then Roger was a good person. A kind person.

“None.” John, who’s eyes were fastened to the ground, startled, as Roger leaned in for a high five.

“Bosh! More for me! I knew I could count on you Deaky!”

Laughing John lifted his hand to Roger’s.

“Oh, John! You have to meet Veronica from my design class. She’s not here today but she said she’s ace and you two would get along so well. Someone told me she skipped a final exam once to drive to Brighton for a Cher concert.”

John smiled ear to ear as he took down her phone number from Freddie.

“Look at that, ten minutes in and Mr. None over here has more numbers than us.” Roger huffed as he slumped in his seat.

Freddie felt a wave of relief wash over him as he realized Roger had forgotten his own lack of answer regarding his sexuality. While he was sure of himself- now- his cheek still smarted and he wasn’t ready for any sort of public proclamation. Maybe he never would be. Maybe that didn’t matter.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of pamphlets, free condoms, safe sex tips and a promise of a concert at the end of the year. Freddie mentally signed up their yet unformed band to play.

By the time they made it back to the flat and settled in on the sofa, for a documentary Brian insisted they watch on animal rights, Freddie felt an odd sense of contentment.

His belly full from the chickpea curry Brian made from an old recipe his sister had sent him (he had yet to reply to the text), who had clearly trying to make him feel less homesick with the familiar taste (maybe Brian wasn’t so bad either?), he took John’s hand and let his head fall on Roger’s shoulder who was currently tugging and then releasing random curls on Brian’s head who, shockingly, seemed to be letting the blonde get away with it- probably as retribution for Roger letting him pick the film.

Freddie contemplated bringing up the competition then and there but he feared he would break their fragile bond. Plus Roger’s shoulder was surprisingly comfortable. Tomorrow then.

—

PS the flower is Baby’s Breath and it means strong emotions,, suits our freddie doesnt it,?


	4. Four 1/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.  
> \--  
> Fuck me these uploaded strangely and I CANNOT be fucked to fix it right now so pls use the chapter index and read the chapter names to figure out which is next. THIS IS NOT THE NEXT CHAPTER! This is 4 1/2 not 4! Sorry,,, this happened a few other times as well. Will fix soon. But pls use the index from now on.

It had been two days since Roger had seen the scars on Brian’s forearms. He wondered if he’d seen the fresh marks as well; made just the night prior as he lay in bed only feet away from the blonde. He relished the searing lines he pushed into his flesh, how he was barely able to hiss out in pain, for fear of waking Roger, so instead he’d bit down on his own tongue until the delicate copper flavour filled his mouth.

So far the drummer had held good on his word and hadn’t told anyone. Well, as far as Brian knew. That was why he was balancing a latte with double espresso and a matcha tea on the crowded London tube. Just a bit of recreational detective work.

During last night’s band practice the blonde had mentioned the name of the garage he worked at; Brian made a mental note so he could talk to the man away from the prying ears of his other flatmates. If he were being honest it was just Freddie he was trying to avoid; he doubted John would particularly care what the two of them were talking about and, if he did, he didn’t think the youngest of their group would be inclined to do anything about Brian’s habit.

When the tube journey ended the guitarist found himself in an unfamiliar part of London. A rather unsavoury part of London. A dangerous part of London. Did Roger really work here? How did the floral-perfume-wearing silk-tunic-doning blonde make it safely to and from this location every other day? Brian’s stomach twisted in knots as he thought about it.

As he walked into the first work bay the smell of metal and engine grease assaulted his nose while dull, rusted, metal forms danced in front of his eyes. The whole place was exceptionally bleak and exceptionally pungent.

Initially unsure as he wandered around the seemingly deserted garage Brian wondered if he had the right address, until that is, he heard Blondie’s Heart of Glass drifting in from the farthest work bay.

Well, he had thought it to be Roger, but the blonde facing away from him was wearing some very not Roger clothing. Patchwork denim and a grease stained blue vest. No fur, nor prints, no rainbow suspenders, not a even a necklace in sight! Brian simply couldn’t imagine their hippie-esque flatmate wearing practical clothing. But upon his feet there were tied unmistakable purple chucks.

“I’ll be damned, you actually do have a job.”

He watched as the blonde’s shoulders jolted as he startled and turned. His last reservations about it not being Roger faded away as two blue doe eyes encased by eyeglasses questioned him.

“What are you doing here?”

Brian held out the latte by way of answer, careful not to let his sleeve ride up as he extended his arm.

“Oh, just in the neighbourhood; thought I’d stop by.”

Roger immediately sucked back half the offered beverage before wiping his mouth with the back of his land, leaving an oil stain across his cheek and managing to completely miss the latte foam on his upper lip.

“You were just in this neighbourhood? Didn’t realize physics students were so keen on getting shivved.”

“I tutor a kid around here.” The taller man picked at his cuticles as he spoke. One more good jab and them might start bleeding. Jab.

“Bullshit.”

Brian couldn’t help but flinch as Roger reached past him, brushing the butchered skin of his right arm, to turn down the radio.

“I don’t lie to people Brian; I said I’d keep,” he gestured vaguely towards the guitarists jumper clad arms,”it to myself. And I will. You don’t need to bribe me with Costa.” With that he threw back the rest of the coffee and dumped the cup into a nearby bin. Brian even managed to keep his mouth shut about there being a recycling receptacle mere feet away.

There was a chance Roger was smarter than he’d realized.

Blushing with embarrassment at the ease at which the blonde had dismantled his plan he found himself unsure of what to do next. He could only stare at the metallic sheen of the oil blotted floor for so long.

“I guess-”

“Did you-”

“I’ll get the bus to-”

“Want to-”

The two let out small laughs, like young school boys who were trying to make friends, neither seeming capable of not cutting each other off in their excitement- or in the blonde and brunette’s case, nerves.

“Stay Bri, I’m lonely here anyways, the other guys have the day off. I’ll just be another hour or so. We could get food or something after?” The earnest bashfulness with which he spoke would’ve made Brian smile had it not been for the tacked on question.

The blonde had been oddly obsessed with his eating habits the last few days. Always checking to see if he’d eaten breakfast and, even once, going so far as to buy a selection of vegan snacks from Tesco and insist the two of them share the food between classes. He didn’t want Roger to force him to eat something, which was certainly his plan, but on the other hand it would be cruel to leave his friend all alone. He watched as the mechanic stretched upwards, revealing a strip of skin tanned by the Cornish sun and bordered by the thin blue vest and scandalously low hanging trousers. Yes, very cruel indeed.

“I’ve already eaten but, uh, yeah. I can hang around.” This marked the first time in his life Brian May had tried to sound sauve. Cool. Collected. Instead he seemed to do his best impression of his teenaged self accepting Chrissy Mark’s invitation to prom. Awkward to the bitter end.

“You’ll be hungry in an hour.” The blonde stated as though it were an undeniable fact of the universe as he dug around the large toolbox Brian was leaning against in search of an oddly contorted part the curly haired man wouldn’t have been able to name under threat of death.

“So, what are you fixing?” Although he had built a guitar by hand the taller man knew next to nothing about cars, preferring bicycles and public transport.

Roger, seeming to realize this, turned to face Brian with a smug grin.

“Just replacing the brake pads; I’m sure you know alllllll about that Mr. Astrophysics.”

He had called biology a lesser science one time. It seemed Roger wasn’t keen on letting him forget this apparent remark on his intelligence. And why did he have to be standing so close to him? Had the man never heard of personal space?

“Obviously I don’t or I wouldn’t have asked.” He was careful to keep his tone light. He and Roger had a bad habit of letting good hearted banter turn into real arguments.

There was just something so magnetically infuriating about the blonde. Brian blamed it on the drummer’s lack of social etiquette. How he’d go prancing around in animal print crop tops snogging whoever had a pulse in full daylight. The way he’d walk just as confidently into the woman’s perfume department as he did into the men’s suiting department. Lately he’d had a penchant for pairing the ties and crop tops together, the tip of the aforementioned swaying pointedly on his bare mid drift, but that was a whole different problem. There was something so very anger inducing about the whole thing. He tried his best to keep it at bay as, being at such a close distance, he noticed Roger had both his ears pierced. Not only that but they were adorned with two tiny golden stars. Brian could’ve sworn he didn’t have them before; at the very least, not those specific earrings.

“Snack?” The shaking of a box of raisins in his face caught his attention.

“Shouldn’t you be replacing the brake…. the brake things or whatever.” He tried very hard to push thoughts of Roger in cropped clothing and jewelry from his mind. The thoughts of it, after all, were making him flush with anger. An uninformed observer might have mistaken the guitarist’s blush and caught breath for desire. But that was the uninformed observer, for it most certainly was anger. Annoyance? Confusion? Desire? Lust? No. Anger. That’s what Brian May had decided the emotion was, so, that’s how it would be identified from now on.

What Roger did next made Brian very angry indeed.

He understood the concept of Roger’s job and knew, as such, that the blonde would be lowering himself onto the low rolling bench so he could lay comfortably underneath the car and change out the brake whatevers. However, he had not accounted for certain variables, such as, his proximity to the drummer and the jutting corner created by the large toolbox. Instead of taking a step back and wheeling the bench into the open floor of the garage Roger chose to simply sink to his knees directly onto the bench.

This would’ve been fine and good, if, he had not still been so very, very close to Brian. In fact, this might have still been fine, had he not maintained a hard line of eye contact. In fact, even that might have been fine, if he hadn’t parted his lips ever so slightly as he spoke.

“Hand me that hair tie, would ya? I’d hate to get it all caught up in the brake things.” He snickered finding himself very funny.

Maybe, even possibly, all of this would’ve been okay if Brian had had a nice cold shower, to dampen his anger of course, if Roger Meddows Taylor wasn’t on his knees, in front of Brian, half lidded, mouth slightly agape, tying back his hair with his arms stretched back behind his head.

For some reason Brian felt dizzy as Roger swiveled around and disappeared under the car. The guitarist shifted uncomfortably then, finding certain items of clothing had become oddly tight.

Well, it was much harder (bad choice of language, Brian later reflected) to call his feelings to Roger’s outrageous behaviour anger after that. He reasoned he should sit down one day and think properly about the things that came (again unfortunate choice of words) so easily to Roger. Gender, sexuality, all of it seemed so taboo. All of it disgusted him. His own feelings disgusted him.

Today they had band practice, tomorrow he was at classes and then the animal shelter, the day after he was tutoring and doing his own homework and the day after that was the gig. Would you look at that, no time for long deep mental reflections on his state of self. Too bad. Although, he noted, tonight around 11pm seemed as lovely a time as ever to cut fresh lines into his arm. Perhaps that would suffice. Perhaps it would even clear up his alien feelings towards Roger.

The physics student straightened out his shirt and inhaled deeply. He mentally cursed every unnatural thought swirling around in his mind. Time to act normal, well, as normal as the high strung man ever was.

“So Rog-”

“No offense Brian but I can’t really hear you under here.” The blonde yelled back at a pitch much too loud for their conversation.

Brian rolled his eyes and bent down, sticking his head under the car.

“Then why’d you want me here?”

Roger turned his head slightly to face the older boy. He could already tell by the smirk this wasn’t going anywhere near productive. Probably not even in the same galaxy as productive.

“So I can gaze upon your ankles from under the car, uninhibited by society’s puritanical rules dear Mademoiselle.” Brian did his best to hold back laughter at Roger’s remark as he pulled his head back and slouched down against the car.

“Your French is shit Roger. I’d be Monsieur.”

“What? Got a problem with being a Mademoiselle?” He could hear the distinctive clicking of a ratchet as Roger spoke.

“Maybe.” The conversation seemed decidedly less funny now.

For a few minutes all Brian could hear was the ratchet and the grating crunch of metal on metal.

In a sudden jolt Roger wheeled himself from under the car and sat up next to Brian.

“Fine, I want to gaze upon your ankles from under the car, uninhibited by society’s puritanical rules dear Monsieur. Happy?”

“Happy? With a scoundrel like you oggling my ankles? I think not.”

At that the two fell into laughter and, for the first time since Roger had flung open the flat door, loaded down with boxes, the tension between them dissolved.

Brian eventually got to his feet and extended a hand down to Roger who eyed his arms nervously.

“Calm down, I’m not about to bleed out.”

Roger winced at the wording but accepted his hand anyways.

“Food?”

“I’m not really-”

“Right almost forgot! Wasn’t a question. Let’s go Monsieur.”

“You’re paying then.”

His comment sent Roger into a fit of hysterical laughter ending with a tearful slap on the back and a gasped: god, you’re hilarious!

Something odd happened on their walk to the nearest diner. Something very odd. Brian started enjoying himself. Stopped counting down the minutes until he could take out his razor again. Started laughing. Stopped worrying about his next assignment.

Somehow the most chaotic person Brian had ever met was having a calming effect on him.

As they sat, eating grease soaked chips, the sun caught Roger’s earrings causing them to glow as if they were real stars. Well, not quite, but the effect was lovely.

“Hey Rog, when did you get those?”

It must’ve been the light from the setting sun but Brian could’ve sworn Roger blushed.

“A week ago.”

“A week ago I was telling you about all the constellations outside our window and you told me to shut up.”

“Yeah and I meant it; now eat some chips.”

Their beaming smiles were much brighter than the gleam from Roger’s jewlery.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.

The intricate red and pink maze seemed to follow Roger everywhere.

The biology lecture hall was overlaid with the hideous design, the parts of a motor obscured by the flesh and blood mosaic, the river of lines even danced across his vision when he was shagging Laura from third year.

He could barely look himself in the eye, nevermind Brian.

Guilt was eating away at the young blonde. He should tell somebody anybody what Brian was doing. He physically tensed every time Brian left his sight for more than ten minutes; worried that something had upset his curly haired flatmate and he was taking it out on himself via a razor blade.

Seeing the scars on Brian’s arms had opened a door in Roger’s mind. He started to see the guitarist’s other harmful behaviours.

He had been wrapped up in his own drinking, his own chain smoking, in Freddie’s increasing dosage of various pills on a night out, in John’s inability to have a drink without ending up passed out in the back of a bar. He was much too wrapped up as to notice Brian had his own vices.

A person’s vices, he realized, were a reflection of themselves. His were loud and angry; they made everyone take notice. Freddie’s were done under the guise of fun but really he just wanted to feel something real. John’s was barely noticeable until it hit, fast and hard, like a tonne of bricks; he was trying to get away from everyone and everything.

And then there were Brian’s habits. Quiet and self involved like the man they plagued.

He barely ate, he’d go days at a time without sleeping, when he drank it was liquor and it was a lot and, of course, there was the cutting. The blonde could see the 20 year old was on the verge of burning out, of breaking down, of becoming irrevocably damaged.

“Rog! Roger! Are you even listening?”

Unfortunately their punishing practice schedule wasn’t helping either.

“Listening to what? You and Brian arguing over who’s songs to play again?” Roger remarked twirling a drumstick, in what he hoped appeared to be an effortless fashion, between his fingers.

Their gig was that day and Freddie had insisted they run through the set one more time. Well, he had insisted that, eight times ago.

“No! We confirmed the set a day ago- pay attention. Let’s just run through-”

“One more time.” Roger and John groaned in unison.

The thing was Roger was paying attention- just not to what Freddie wanted him to. He tracked Brian’s every move in their makeshift studio at the record shop, tracked Brian’s ever breath. He was afraid if he stopped looking Brian’s chest might stop rising and falling.

The drummer was entranced as he watched Brian’s fingers move expertly over the neck of his guitar letting the opening notes of Seven Seas of Rhye, one of Freddie’s songs, ring out.

He let his head fall back, eyes partially closed, as he struck the drum skins. He let his anger and guilt attack the well beat kit, note after note.

Despite his internal strife regarding the tallest of their flamates the drummer found himself excited for the gig. He had been in bands before in Cornwall but nothing ever stuck. He’d always thought of university as a time filler while he waited for something better, something more glamorous, something more rock n roll. For his fur coat, sunglasses and cigarettes certainly didn’t suit the lecture hall. The lads at the garage weren’t particularly fond of them either.

He never thought his salvation would come in the form of a crooked toothed, velvet clad, parsi boy named Farrokh Bulsara- well Freddie Mercury. Roger had managed a glance at his ID a few days ago on a night out and seen the name. Roger was sure Freddie would’ve punched him for saying it if Brian hadn’t been holding him back. Deaky had been no help at all, in fact, he seemed amused by the whole scenario if anything.

After the closing strings of the song faded into the poster plastered walls the four bandmates couldn’t help but share a smile; even Brian, who had been particularly on edge, the last few days looked pleased.

—-

Three outfit changes, a can of hairspray and a pint later they were ready. Well mostly ready. Well John was sitting on the couch glaring daggers as Brian rearranged his curls (again), Roger combed through his mascara coated eyelashes and Freddie tried on a new assortment of rings. So John was ready.

“Look Brian, it’s no big deal, we’re all wearing makeup!” Roger tried bargaining with the guitarist again as he entered their bedroom.

Brian took another step back and bumped into the wall. “Roger Meddows Taylor if you come any closer to me with that lipstick-”

“First, it’s liptint you dense egg. Second, never back yourself into a corner.” The blonde took the opening to lean into the tense guitarist’s personal space.

He couldn’t help but notice as Brian’s pupils blew out as he took the taller man’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and angled it down.

“Com’on Bri,” he hadn’t meant for his voice to drop an octave as he looked into his bandmate’s honey hued eyes, “it’s for the band, please?”

“Fine.” He could feel Brian’s breath on his hand.

Roger was careful of the man’s delicate forearms as he leaned in closer for a better angle.

The tube made an obscene noise as he pulled the wand from it. He had expected Brian to squirm and look everywhere but him, however, Brian May was not a puzzle easily solved.

He held the blue gaze with confidence and perhaps, if Roger squinted, a bit of curiosity.

Roger was a brash man, and to be frank, he had experienced his fair share of lays. Yet, he inexplicably found himself blushing when Brian parted his lips, just so, as the wand glided over his bottom lip.

“Why don’t you wear them more often?” The words floated softly from the taller.

Brows drawing together with focus he angled the wand up to the perfect cupid’s bow placed upon Brian’s top lip. “Wear what?”

“Your glasses.”

Roger rolled his eyes at the mention of them. He only wore the round tortoiseshell frames around the flat, not wanting to dilute his soon to be rockstar image.

“I look like a nerd in them- for God’s sake I’d fit in in your AP physics class!”

“Yeah right up until they started asking you questions.”

“I know about stars and shit.”

“When I was doing my homework yesterday you asked me what my favourite constellation was.”

“Way to prove my point. Star fact!”

“Wait what was the star fact?”

“Constellations.”

“The fact was constellations?”

“Stop moving your lips- I’m trying to paint a masterpiece here!” He dragged the rose coloured tint at a militantly slow pace. He found the lines in Brian’s lips oddly fascinating.

“You think I’m a masterpiece?”

Roger’s hand faltered briefly.

“No- your lips- no the- my lipgloss- my artistry here is the masterpiece. Obviously.”

“I thought it was liptint.”

Roger looked up then from smirking lips. His gaze was steady as he tilted his head to the side. A tense silence lingered around the students. The smile fell from Brian’s face.

“Thanks again for not telling anyone about,” Brian awkwardly held up his wrists, “I’m going to take your advice, by the way, find someone to talk to. There’s a therapist at the university I’m going to see on Tuesday.”

The tension and guilt that had been threatening to burst his head since last week finally dissipated; replaced, now, with a serene optimism as well as shiver of pride at Brian thinking his advice was good, was worthwhile, was smart.

“That’s- wow- I mean nice work. I went there actually in my first year.”

“For what?” Roger’s chest fluttered oddly as the boy who just three weeks ago had looked at him with such venom was now gazing at him with concern.

“Well I say went, but, uh, I was ordered to go for five sessions. Punched a kid in the face my first day in class.”

“So you’ve always been the professors pride and joy then; wasn’t sure if it was a recent thing.”

“Oh shut up and let me finish.” The blonde leaned back in for the final stroke, his leg, quite possibly purposely, pressed against Brian’s own.

The drummer wouldn’t have felt so light, so happy, of course, had he known the curly haired man was lying to him.

Brian May was most certainly not going to lay his soul bare to a stranger. Brian may was not going to stop cutting. Brian May was not going to a therapist. Instead, Brian May was going to cut in less visible places. Brian May was going to shove the blood soaked paper towels to the bottom of the trash bin. Brian May was going to lie to his friend.

With a flick Roger finished the liptint and looked up to admire Brian. No. To admire his work. That was it. His work. Not Brian.

“How do I look?”

“Gay.”

“I’m going to kill you Roger.”

Neither had leaned back or stepped away. Roger knew every second that passed made the presence of his hand on Brian’s face stranger and stranger.

“Just out of curiosity, did any of you actually want to go to the gig? I would hate to think Freddie put this blusher on me for nothing.” John banged on their door. Brian and Roger physically jumped back from eachother as if they’d been jolted by electricity, or even worse, the call of reality. This felt like last week all over again; why couldn’t their damn flatmates leave them alone?

“I think you look nice in them by the way.” Brian reached for the door handle as he spoke, his sleeve studiously tugged down.

“What?” Roger found himself strangely out of breath. Maybe he should smoke less.

“Your glasses- you look good in them.”

Roger swallowed. There was a more than zero chance that Brian May was flirting with him. Probably complimenting him as Freddie did to them all so often; but still, not a non chance, that Brian May was flirting with him.

Buzzing with something other than pre-gig nerves the two boys entered the living area which was adorned with an irritated bassist.

“John, dear, calm down, we have ages.” Freddie replied as he joined them.

“The gig starts in 15 minutes.” Whoops. With that remark, Roger could only assume, their young flatmate had been hoping to instill some calmness and for them to move towards the door in an orderly fashion. What he got, though, was much different.

“Roger you told me you’d say when there was only half an hour left!” Brian turned on his heel to glower at the blonde while throwing down his hand mirror (in which he had been fluffing his hair again), which missed the table and shattered on the floor.

Brian looked quite sweet despite his cheeks flushed with anger. Perhaps it was the liptint. Perhaps Roger just liked how Brian looked.

Freddie screeched something about them having bad luck now.

“Shut the hell up mate! You’re going to ruin your voice!” Roger yelled back at the dark haired boy before remembering he too, should probably be a bit more careful given all the falsettos were his to do.

By the time they made it to the bar- just in time- John looked like he was going to be physically ill, Brian was annoyed with everyone once again, Freddie was going to decapitate the next bar patron who bumped into him and Roger wished he was drunk.

Growing up he had become accustomed to odd looks and stares as his fashion changed and the occasional swipe of mascara was added. He was also cognisant of that fact that there were times it wasn’t in his best interest to present himself in certain ways. Thankfully he could more than hold his own in a fight. However, since moving to London he’d forgotten he was a freak in the eyes of society. For the bars and societies he frequented were just as odd as he.

Feeling the glares of the audience seering into them brought the feeling back. There was a chance, however small, four men wearing makeup, singing about fairy kings and seaside rendezvous, were not going to be well received here. Shit.

Somehow he seemed to be the only one aware of this. Freddie was glowing with confidence as he walked up onto the small stage, Brian even had the small ghost of a smile on his face as he slung the red guitar over his shoulder, John was obscured by Roger’s cymbal but he assumed he was fine.

Hot lights burnt Roger’s skin, the sea of unknown faces threw glares his way, laughter penetrated his head like a bullet as their name was announced. Queen.

The drummer could only pray Freddie could read a room and would cut back on his prancing around stage. As it turned out, Freddie Mercury changed for no man. Half way into their opener Roger could barely hear his and Brian’s backing vocals over the jeering and name calling being directed at the stage.

“What was that dear?”

Roger shot a worried look over at Brian who shrugged, knowing they couldn’t stop Freddie when he was set on something.

The art student had stopped singing and grabbed one of the floor lights, angling it on one man in the audience.

He spoke into the microphone. “Please speak up, I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you the first time.” They had all been acutely aware of the name the man had yelled at Freddie seconds ago.

He was silent.

The overhead lights built up sweat along Roger’s forehead.

“Now then,” Freddie tugged sharply at the microphone, the cable attached to it making a satisfying snapping sound, “let’s try again shall we?”

Something strange fizzed in the air.

Brain raised his eyebrows at Roger with an amazed look on his face and the blonde couldn’t help but laugh. Freddie was definitely something.

After the audience had been thoroughly chastised by their lead vocalist they had actually started to listen to, and dare he say it, enjoy their music.

The eruption of cheers after their fourth song, Son and Daughter, sent a wave rolling through Roger. He felt on top of the world. They were flying; their feet far off the ground. They could do this. They were Queen. They were good.

One song left to go in the set.

As sweet as success was it was also fleeting.

Their sound faltered and fell hollow only seconds later followed by the distinctive sound of boots leaving the stage.

He couldn’t see much behind his kit but Freddie had later described the scene to him. John’s shell shocked eyes slowly filling with tears, ragged breathes getting faster and faster, a white knuckled grip on his bass, fingers falling motionless. Rooted to the spot. Unable to move, or think, or breathe. Freddie had leaned over and placed a concerned hand on his shoulder as the lights burned down hotter and hotter.

This had apparently spurred him into action, and, off the stage.

At the time, though, Roger was confused.

A mess of curls, illuminated by golden lights, flew around frantically. Brian. Impossibly shiny black hair being tucked behind ears nervously. Freddie.

He should’ve known it would be John who couldn’t handle it. He was just a kid. And a pretty delicate one at that.

The blonde felt a distinctive rage bubble up in his chest.

“Sorry, dears, that’s the end of our set. Hope you enjoyed.” Freddie tried to play it off as though they’d actually finished and ran off stage after John.

The golden lights were washed out by a familiar red. Brian muttered a thank you before following suit.

Thwack.

Crash.

Crunch.

One drum kit down and two pairs of bloody knuckles later Roger follower his three insufferable, terrible excuses for human being, flatmates out into the alley.

He would like to say his anger melted as he took in the scene in front of him. John, on his knees, in the alley, gasping for breath as tears fell down his cheeks. Freddie with a hand on his back trying to murmur sympathetic words despite his own anger. Brian pacing nervously, alternating between asking if John was okay and berating him. In what was a terrible twist of fate for his bandmates none of these things made the drummer any less furious.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you John? And why did you stop Freddie!” The blonde punctuated his words with a sharp kick at the alley wall which rang out louder than his drums had all night.

The alley smelt like old beer and piss.

Freddie stood up then, facing him. “He doesn’t need this right now! We can talk about it later. Obviously John knows he fucked up the performance-”

“You said it was alright?” The youngest member’s voice was small.

“Are you really that naive?” Brian snapped looking incredulous.

“I mean the entire performance was ruined, John, so not really.” Apparently Freddie was done being nice as well. His tone was still gentle but the words cut deep into John. He’d ruined everything.

“Sorry, and you think,” John had managed to regain some of his snark as he stood, still leaning on the alley wall for support, “that you two wanting us to dress up like arcane glam rock stars in makeup had nothing to do with people not liking us?”

“They liked us eventually!” The blonde growled at their bassist. Well their bassist if they still had a band anyways.

“No John’s right,” the aforementioned raised his eyebrows at Brian’s defence of him, “but he didn’t exactly help. In fact, I was the only one there who managed not to fuck up. Which doesn’t seem a big ask for 25 minutes, yet, you three seem incapable of it.”

Roger felt like an idiot. Why did he ever think that pretentious arse would ever be flirting with him?

John wiped the last tear from his cheek; his deadpan voice rebounding off the stone walls around them. “You know Brian, most people find it pleasurable having something up their ass, but your head seems to be causing you some discomfort.” With that he turned on his heel and stalked down the alley.

“Going to follow your pet Freddie?” Brian, clearly hurt by Deaky, seemed happy to take it out on the art student. “He’s always following you around. You know, maybe if you had held his hand on stage this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I would’ve, dear, but your fragile masculinity would’ve exploded at the very sight.” The clacking of his heeled boots rebounded down the stone passageway as he left in the opposite direction of John.

Roger looked over at the physics student who was turning to walk away as well.

“Don’t talk to me Roger.”

“Where are you going in such a hurry? To cut yourself up?” As soon as the words left his mouth he became acutely aware of everything around him. Of the cold autumn air, of all the people who had seen them fail, of the fog curling around them, how much he wanted a cigarette, but above everything else, he became acutely aware of how very much he wished he could take those words back.

“You know what, it’s not really any of your business, but if you’re so damn concerned. Yes, Roger, yes I am. I’m going to take the razor blade I keep in the pencil case in my bedside table and I’m going to disinfect it with boiling water- that’s what that sound is by the way, late at night, I’m not making tea, I’m boiling water so I can sanitize my razor- and then I’m going to lay in my bed, with the covers pulled up, I’ve done it while you’ve been sleeping before you know, and then I’ll pick somewhere on my arm- what do you think Rog? Left or right?”

The blonde stood unmoving as Brian took another step closer.

“Left or right Roger? It’s not polite to ignore someone’s question.”

“Brian please don’t I-”

“If you don’t pick one I’ll do both.”

The blonde felt a million miles away from his body. His lip quivered.

“Left.”

“Great. So somewhere on my left arm and I’ll dig the razor in until, and this is my favourite part, the skin gives way, and then I’ll drag it across until there’s one, neat, straight line. So yeah Roger, I am going to cut myself up, thanks for asking.”

The blonde felt a pang of understanding then, towards John, as he found himself rooted to the spot and unable to chase after Brian’s now retreating figure.

Roger wished to all the Gods be didn’t believe in that Brian had yelled back at him instead. Or punched him. Or kicked him. Or just walked away. Anything but that.

He keeled over and vomited in the alley.

—

Fuming, Freddie turned away from their flat door remembering he hadn’t brought his key. He hadn’t had any reason to think they’d be returning separately.

He knew in the morning he’d feel awful for yelling at John, he’d maybe even feel bad for yelling at Roger and Brian. But not tonight. Tonight he was furious. It was supposed to be their breakthrough. Their first real gig. And every single one of them other than him had completely fucked it up.

Wind, rain and fog battered him as he ventured outdoors again, not knowing when his flatmates would be back and not particularly wanting to see any of them even if they did return in a timely manner.

The stewing art student couldn’t help but suspiciously eye the still light up flower shop next door. He didn’t dare enter. The rain had methodically reformed his carefully straightened hair to its natural waves, to speak no words of his now makeupless face. Seeing Jim now would certainly be a nightmare.

Apparently the fates had other plans.

“Freddie Mercury. Fancy meeting you here.” Oh fuck. He could recognize that Irish accent anywhere.

Jim Hutton stood in the entrance of the flower shop wrapped in a thickly knit jumper, hair wind mused, rain drops now clinging to his stubble as he held the door open.

“Well don’t just stand there; it’s baltic out here.”

“I’m fine, a bit warm actually, if anything.” He refused to turn around and look at Jim properly, not wanting him to see his current state.

“Fine. I’ll stay out here with you. Where’re your friends at?”

Why was Jim so infuriating nice? It was absolutely sickening. Sickening in a sweet kind of way. A sweet, generous, sexy kind of way.

The wind continued to tear at them.

“Okay stop asking! We can go inside if you really can’t go on without my company.”

Jim laughed at his outburst instead of being annoyed and then held the door open for him.

“How goes being famous?”

“Terrible. Why is your shop always open?” Freddie picked at some leaves as he gazed around the shop.

“It’s not my shop. It’s my uncle’s; I just work here. We close at midnight; you’d be surprised at the number of people needing bouquets of flowers late at night.”

A shiver passed up the singer as he toyed with fallen petals trying to avoid Jim’s gaze.

“We had our first gig tonight. Went tits up to be honest.” He pulled a soft pink petal from a rose then let it fall to the floor.

“You know I’m going to have to sweep that up now?”

Freddie pulled off another petal.

Jim sighed. “Last time we spoke you didn’t even have a band. I’d say you’re doing pretty well. Everyone has a few setbacks. Do you think you sound good?”

Freddie could hear him walking up behind him.

“I know it darling.”

“Then stop worrying. You’ll have another gig.” A warm hand spread across his sharp shoulder blade. “Come on, I have another jumper. You should dry off and get changed. You’re too small Freddie- you’re going to freeze.”

“You sound like my grandmother.” Freddie let a small smile form at the Irishman’s contact. At his concern. At his attention.

He felt irrevocably cold as Jim removed his hand to dig around behind the cash desk to find the jumper.

He didn’t dare turn around as a towel and jumper were handed to him. God, why was he so ugly? He wondered how Jim could even stand to look at him.

Skilled fingers unbuttoned his silk blouse and he dragged the towel across his body. He rushed to shove the jumper over his head.

The scent of roses, cigarettes and whiskey overwhelmed him. Jim would most certainly not be getting the soft woollen jumper back.

“God, stop worrying Freddie, you look,” he stopped and glanced at the flowers around them, “you look fine.”

The art student finally turned around to roll his eyes. The dry fabric felt heavenly on his cold body.

“Wow, I look fine. My dream come true.”

This for some reason, made Jim laugh as well. Freddie wished his laugh was annoying, or grating, or too high pitched, instead, it was perfect. 

“I would’ve said I find you to be incredible sexy with your hair all wild, wearing my jumper. But, that seems hardly appropriate to say when I’ve got a boyfriend.”

A happy flush curled around Freddie.

“Oh is he still hanging around?”

“Yes he’s still hanging around thank you. Sit.”

They both took a seat on worn wooden stools behind the cash desk.

“Are you just tricking me into working?”

“No, I’m tricking you into being happy. Take one.” Jim held out a tin of biscuits he’d gotten from the desk.

“God, you really are my Gran.” He plucked one of the jam filled ones from the tin. “Thank you.”

Crash!

Freddie jumped at the loud noise but Jim seemed unbothered.

“What was that?” Freddie took advantage of the fright to inch his stool closer to Jim’s. Their arms were touching now. His heart beat faster and he swore a small smile wormed its way onto Jim’s face.

“That’s just Delilah. She’s always scratching at the back door.” Jim shifted ever so slightly as their legs were pressed together as well. He would hate for Freddie to freeze to death after all.

“Delilah? Wait is she one of the cats you feed?”

“How do you-”

“I’m not a stalker alright? I can see you from my bedroom window. Not that I was looking for you specifically or anything.” Oh great, now he seemed like a desperate psychopath.

“Oh, well, I’ll wave up at you next time. Which window are you?”

A thrill ran through his airways and made his lungs flutter oddly. Or was it your heart that fluttered when you liked someone? It was hard for Freddie to tell as, when he saw Jim, his whole self seemed to vibrate, as though some force were pulling the two of them together.

“Second floor, window nearest to you- your shop that it.”

“I’ll look out for you tomorrow morning then.”

He didn’t bother trying to contain the smile on face.

“You know,” Freddie leaned in to Jim, as though whispering a state secret, “we’re having a dinner party in a few days. You’re welcome to come. Bring your boyfriend as well, if he isn’t working?”

Every once in a while Freddie questioned why he said certain things. This was one of those times. As, one, they weren’t having a dinner party, two, there was no guarantee the four of them would even be speaking again by that point, three, he couldn’t cook, four, and most importantly, his boyfriend was not certainly not invited.

Jim seemed to have the peculiar power of making the art student say very dumb things.

Jim leaned in too, again, very worried about Freddie catching a chill and all. “Well which day is it? He works Monday night.”

“But you’re free then?” Freddie hoped he sounded less devious aloud than he did in his head.

“Yes.”

“Gosh that is too bad! It’s monday night. We’ll be happy to have you though!”

Jim gave him a look that made it quite clear he knew what Freddie was doing.

“Do you need me to bring anything?” He smiled as he popped a shortbread biscuit into his mouth, a few crumbs catching on his stubble.

“Not your boyfriend.”

The singer seemed to lack bodily control as his hand reached up of its own will and brushed the crumbs from Jim’s face.

“Hilarious.”

The florist’s own hand reached up and placed itself over Freddie’s. He waited for Jim to move it. He didn’t.

Was he getting closer?

Crash!

This time Freddie nearly jumped into Jim’s lap. Not entirely out of fear, he might add.

“Jesus calm down. I may have added a cat door.” A soaked feline ran frantically over to Freddie and jumped up onto the counter mewling loudly at him.

“Huh, she doesn’t usually like strangers.” Freddie ignored Jim’s wonder and stroked the poor waterlogged kitten, the moment between the two men gone.

Jim reached over Freddie so one arm was around him, and gently patted Delilah dry with Freddie’s discarded towel. Well, maybe the moment wasn’t completely gone.

Looking back, Freddie was quite sure this was the exact moment he fell in love with Jim Hutton.

Maybe tonight hadn’t been the end of the world after all.


	6. Six 1/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.

Golden curls attached to a head free of guilt clouded Jim’s vision as he woke. Feeling particularly in need of the scalding water this morning he tiptoed out of the bedroom he shared with his boyfriend and into the shower. His calloused hands loosened the cap on the honey scented shampoo his boyfriend continuously ribbed him for using. He’d remarked on it the first time he stayed over- that had been three years ago now. Jim was happy. Was Jim happy?

Joe was smart and loyal, not to mention, crowned with a beautiful blond mane- now that Jim thought about it those were the same qualities of any Golden Retriever. Steam puffed out from his nostrils as he laughed.

The three years they’d spent together had been marred with no disastrous events, but, there was something missing. A spark.

Uninvited, unwelcomed and certainly unwarranted thoughts of a certain dark haired art student jolted through his head. They curled around every synapse and drowned every logical thought that attempted to claw its way past eyeliner rimmed eyes and beautifully large teeth.

Well, he was looking for a spark not a forest fire. Freddie Mercury was Pompeii when all he wanted was a Zippo lighter.

Yet.

The slithering, sickening feeling of guilt coiled around his intestines as he thought about tonight. He had told Joe he was staying late at the flower shop when in reality he’d be at Freddie’s dinner party. He didn’t even know why he hadn’t told his boyfriend. There were going to be other people there. He’d been clear with Freddie that this wasn’t a date. Joe was working anyways.

Yet.

He wanted to keep Freddie all to himself. A single word hadn’t parted his lips about the art student despite the fact he clogged Jim’s mind several hours of the day. There was nothing wrong with an innocent friendship, Jim reminded himself.

Yet.

Often the florist would go out of his way to make sure his hand brushed against Freddie’s thigh as they walked up to his flat (Jim always insisted he return the teacup Freddie brought his tea down in and wash it out- he was raised a gentleman afterall). Often the Irishman caught himself staring a bit too intently at the art student’s lips. Sometimes he even kept the shop open late in hopes Freddie would drunkenly stop by after a night out with friends.

He knew it was wrong to take advantage. He saw the way Freddie looked at him. Hell, he had ears- he heard the things Freddie said to him. He’d practically told Jim he wanted to have him the first time they met.

He’d almost done it too.

That night he asked Joe to sit down for a talk with the intention- the insane intention- of breaking up with him all because a pompous art student told him to. Thankfully reality slapped him in the face as the blonde man brought his hand to Jim’s cheek and worriedly asked what was wrong. He’d lied and said he thought they should go visit his mother in Ireland together this summer. Joe had agreed. He boyfriend was sweet and kind and concerned and he’d almost left him on a whim.

That was the power of Freddie Mercury.

But that was it wasn’t it? It would’ve been a whim. Freddie was a whim. He was young and impressionable and terribly immature. Not someone Jim could make a life with. A good lay maybe- most certainly in fact- but not a future.

Yet.

This selfish fame seeker who only thought of himself and moved at a mile a minute had started a very odd habit.

The first time it happened Jim assumed it was a one- off, simply a thank you for the dry jumper and council after his band’s incendiary gig. But it happened the next morning, and the next and the next. Then it became a habit, because after four days something was a habit, and then Jim even came to expect it.

Crashing into his shop before opening hours breached the young dawn Freddie would appear with two cups of tea. Hot with lots of milk- just how Jim liked.

The vocalist had never offered an explanation for this, forcing the florist to simply accept it.

Usually they’d talk about what their respective days held. Sometimes Freddie would help Jim arrange an order- he had a lovely eye for colour. They’d even play with the stray cat, Delilah, if she’d decided to grace them with her presence that particular morning.

Once, Jim had fallen asleep with his head on Freddie’s shoulder as they sat against the wall chatting about the latter’s current art project. He hadn’t been offended in the least when Jim woke- simply instructed him to go to bed early that night lest he get overtired and develop wrinkles.

The Irishman couldn’t decipher, try as he may, what Freddie gained from their mornings together. Despite his empty ponderings he found himself looking forward to their pre-dawn rendezvous.

He chastised himself as he walked with a certain spring in his step, looking forward to his morning tea, on his way to the flower shop. The feeling of his boyfriend’s lips on his still lingered.

There were some mornings, of course, when he was late. A certain Thursday sprung to mind during which Joe had been feeling pressingly hot and bothered and well, Jim did have needs. A single mug awaited him on the shop’s front step with an exceedingly confusing note.

Dear Jim,

I do hope you return from hospital soon and have learned your lesson about turning off your stove at night.

Xx Freddie.

When Jim had asked the next day the art student answered innocently.

“The only reason I could possibly imagine you being late for our very important morning meetings is an awful accident in which your flat caught fire leaving you with horrific injuries.” He cocked his head to the side and tucked a lock of Jim’s overgrown hair behind his ear. “You look fine, considering.”

Git.

Tonight’s dinner party only added to his confusing soup of emotions. He bit his lip as he unlocked the heavy shop door. At times, Jim felt his cheeks glow a delicate pink, like the hydrangeas around them, as Freddie spoke about his university courses. Jim’s family had never been well off and he wasn’t able to afford university; besides, he was happy with his job.

Yet.

Being surrounded by Freddie’s other university friends he feared overdrawn, overanalyzed, typical university conversation would be expected from him. The art student had never made him feel bad for his lack of education and had, upon three separate occasions, admired Jim’s apathy for titles and qualifications. Despite Freddie’s assurances he lamented sounding stupid in front of the vocalist’s inner circle. Jim had never worried about the opinions of others and couldn’t find the reason he had started now, no matter how frantically he looked.

Of Freddie’s three flatmates, he had only met one. He had seen the gangly, curly haired man whizzing by on his way to classes and the blonde often smoked in the alley shared by the flat complex and his shop. However, it was the third one- the plain one, John, whom he had met.

A week ago Freddie had an early morning assessment for a sculptures class so Jim found himself quite surprised when the shop’s bell alerted him to an unexpected guest.

“Fred wanted me to bring you this?” The poor man was so nervous he’d managed to phrase it as a question as he held out the chipped china mug.

“Right. Yes. Thank you.”

They both stood rooted to the spot unsure of how to move their interaction to the blissful escape of an end.

“You must be Jim then. I hope anyways,” the overall clad boy laughed then, “or I’ve really messed up. Freddie would have my head- he didn’t trust Roger or Brian with the task of bringing the famed Jim Hutton his tea.”

Jim raised an eyebrow hearing his full name. He couldn’t help the strange happiness clawing at his throat at hearing that Freddie spoke of him.

“Didn’t know I was famed. You’d think they’d get me my Costa order a bit faster then.”

John blushed realizing his mistake.

“Um- no- he doesn’t talk about you a lot or anything. Well certainly enough- it’s hard to get through a tube journey without hearing about your damn flowers but, uh, anyways. I should go. Classes and all.”

“Thanks-?”

“John.” The man in question reached for the door handle.

“Thanks John.”

“And Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“However great you think Freddie is he’s, well, he’s a thousand times brighter than you could conceive.”

“I know.” He thought of his crooked tooth smile.

“No. No, you don’t.” The bass player’s sigh filled the room followed by the crispness of autumn air.

So, it was two of Freddie’s bandmates Jim had never met, John who seemed, inexplicably, to hate him, an art school colleague named Mary, a girl Roger had invited and himself.

Great, just fucking fantastic, he thought as he picked through the day’s orders deciding what to work on first.

Yet.

He found himself excited for the event that could only end disastrously. The Irishman considered texting his boyfriend then; apologizing for being distant, ordering in curry, and cancelling on Freddie.

Then the overhead bell chimed.

Soft morning light licked at shiny black waves and slightly parted lips.

“Ready for the night of your life?” Freddie smirked, eyebrow raised suggestively. Butterflies (Jim suspected Monarchs) fluttered in his stomach. The now familiar china mug clattered down in front of him.

He really should text Joe.

Yet.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.

Potato peels piled high in the trash bin, starchy steam curling through the air mixing with Roger’s cigarette smoke, the clunky humming of the microwave- all of it seemed to mock him.

Things had been going so well only a few hours prior. Freddie had engaged with his usual morning tea and flirt with Jim, who had assured him he was excited for tonight. Then- disaster.

Exactly two hours ago Jim had sent Freddie a text that could only be described as catastrophic. Freddie should’ve seen it, the glow of guilt in his too kind eyes, when he’d asked Jim if his awful boyfriend was still working tonight. The text had explained the following horrific scenario:

Joe got the day off last minute.

Jim told Joe about the dinner party.

Jim invited Joe to aforementioned dinner party.

Joe accepted.

Freddie was furious.

It had taken the last two hours for Roger and John to convince Freddie not to call the whole thing off while Brian peeled the potatoes, that Freddie demanded he cook, alone.

“Weren’t you wearing a jumper earlier?” John innocently pulled at the loose thread on Freddie’s newly donned red velvet vest as he watched the older boy fret and primp at his hair in their shared bedroom mirror. 

Freddie’s eyes narrowed at his roommate. “Yes John, how very astute of you. Have you considered though, and this is really going out on a limb here, as I know how very much experience you have with relationships, but have you considered it wasn’t a cunning plan to wear Jim’s jumper in front of Jim’s boyfriend?” 

John, of course, knew all this. John also, of course, had gotten antsy. Him and Roger had talked Freddie down from a meltdown while Brian completed the art student’s seemingly never ending list of potato dishes for the dinner party. John, of course, hadn’t wanted to go to the dinner party. Freddie made him. Now Freddie, of course, would be facing the consequences of this all night. John had no intention of actually sabotaging anything, of course. Freddie was his friend. But, of course, a little payback never hurt anyone.

“Right, of course.” Was all John said aloud.

“You know,” Freddie had torn himself away from his reflection and sat down next to John, he looked frighteningly serious, “we are going to have to practice soon. The competition is coming up. I’m not losing,” his eyes seemed to glide right through John then, “we’re not losing.” 

Freddie knew they all thought there wasn’t much point performing in public anymore; they’d all said as much. An occasional jam session between four friends? Sure. But nothing grand, nothing spectacular, nothing publicly noted or fame inducing. But what Freddie knew deep down, what thrummed around his heart and infected his brain, was the knowledge that they didn’t mean it. Not a word of it. They wanted fame too. 

He saw Brian gaze at his guitar with a look usually reserved for lovers, saw his neatly scrawled lyrics on notepads, even saw his messy scratchings on used bar napkins that no one was supposed to lay eyes on- those were always his best songs. He saw Roger’s every rhythmic move, the way a tempo possessed his body and his joy at tapping it out on pub tables and tube carriage rails. He saw the blonde’s hidden notebook with a practiced signature upon the pages line after line after line. Even John, in all his unassuming, unwanting glory, craved public adoration. Rhythms that seemed indescribable to Freddie until John’s bass sung them out followed the other three around until a fully formed song nipped at everyone’s heels. He saw John’s nervous blush at the LGBT meeting melt into an almost prideful smug expression as a bloke asked him about his hobbies and the engineering student said I’m in a band.

All of this, Freddie knew, meant they wanted it just as much as he did. They had to. Or else what did he have? A father who hated him for a decision that wasn’t his? A schoolboy crush on a grown man with a boyfriend? A crumbling dream being chipped away by every passing second during which he wasn’t adorning a stage?

Snip. 

A crisp cutting sound pulled Freddie back to Earth as John gently wielded scissors to remove the loose thread from the art student’s vest.

“Do you play a lot of chess?” Freddie turned in bewilderment to the younger man.

John’s mind would never cease to amaze him.

“Not really. I was saying about the band, I-”

A simple look from those icy green eyes could’ve shut up the Prime Minister of England.

“What’s the last piece standing, should all go according to plan?”

“The Queen.”

“Exactly. We won’t lose Freddie,” John surprised him again as he laid his head on his shoulder, “this is a country of monarchists at heart afterall. We are Queen.”

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or slap John for making it all sound so simple. 

Freddie laughed.  
\---  
“Roger no.”

“Roger yes!” The blonde proclaimed swinging his legs wildly sitting on the counter while Brian sliced brown russet potatoes. 

The biology student hadn’t expected all of the group’s tension to drift away on the seas of his own bruised face and stitched up cheek; and it hadn’t. But it had dissipated noticeably. 

Roger once again bunked with Brian and Deaky was back in the flat. The blonde made sure to offer the physics student date speckled granola bars. Brian, in turn, made sure Roger was left alone when he was on the tipping point of a blind rage. Freddie made them all their respective tea and coffee in the mornings before disappearing downstairs to see Jim. They all tried their best to include John in whatever activities they were doing. Three days ago, memorably, Roger and Freddie had taken him to gay club for the first time. The look of wonder and general confusion still hadn’t worn off. John was doling out small kindnesses too, in his own way. A cooked dinner here. A fixed light switch there. They hadn’t ventured towards their instruments, though, as a group since- well, since.

Fear licked at them all even when they so much as gazed at the pub which housed their greatest failure to date.

In the spirit of good deeds and all Roger figured he’d better start helping Brian who had been working tirelessly all afternoon in an attempt to ready everything for the dinner party. The blonde’s version of help, however, was to sit on the kitchen counter, most certainly in the way, and chatter incessantly to the guitarist. He had just explained his genius plan to help Freddie.

“I don’t see why you aren’t on board with this Bolan.” He reached for a corkscrew curl as he spoke and tugged on it. It was always good to create a jovial atmosphere and be sure all were included.

Brian, seeming to disagree, groaned. “First, stop touching me. You’ve been picking at me all day and you know I-”

Buzzzzzzzzzzz.

The sound of that damn phone, Roger thought, was the only thing that could shut Brian up these days. 

Thin shoulders slumped as the tall man surveyed the LED screen and saw only a text from his mother. 

“You know I’m still waiting for my midterm results and you harassing me all day hasn’t been helping and now this- this crazy plan?”

While it had been true, Roger had made a lot of physical contact with Brian lately, a hand on the small of his back as he reached past him in the kitchen, or standing unnecessarily close to him while they spoke, or a tug on one of those tempting curls; none of it had been done with malice, no. He was merely trying to make contact. To include him. And if including him and being a good friend had the side effect of unleashing great swarths of butterflies in Roger’s stomach when their skin touched or caused his heart to leap into his throat in an attempt to suffocate him, then, so be it. Roger was above all a good friend and willing to make that sacrifice. 

Roger was suddenly acutely aware he hadn’t answered Brian yet as the gangly man turned from his slicing to gaze expectantly at Roger with questioning eyes.

His brow furrowed in the most delicious way. Roger could picture a bead of sweat running down it if Brian were to be, lets say, physically active. The blonde tried to knock the stiffening thoughts of his friend from his mind by focussing on his rather homely biology lab partner called Patricia. Patricia didn’t have lovely curled hair that might tickle his chest should she be hovering over Roger’s prone form. Patricia didn’t have long, slender fingers that could glide across the neck of a guitar all soft and rough and gentle and hard. Patricia didn’t have a smile on which the sun rose and a frown on which it set.

There was a chance, an ever so small chance, Roger fancied Brian. He wasn’t terribly worried at first. He fancied a lot of people. But then something odd happened. He started to care. Maybe it was the music, or the hospital, or hell, maybe it was when he first crashed through the door of their flat and saw a bewildered physics student. It was hard to say, exactly, when the caring had started, it was even harder, of course, to know if it would ever end. He didn’t think it would. 

Maybe he should think of Patricia again.

Shit. Brian was still looking at him; he only prayed his eyeline was nearer his face than his lap.

“What’s wrong with the patrici- plan. What’s wrong with the plan?” 

“Sorry, to be clear, you think, you actually believe, you can seduce Jim’s boyfriend during the dinner party, cause them to break up and then Jim and Freddie will start dating?”

“Well they can at least shag then; I didn’t say anything about dating! It’s a reasonable plan Bri!”

Roger found this plan to be very reasonable for exactly two reasons. One: there was a strange nagging thought that had entered his brain some time ago. That had snaked its way through every single one of his synapses and made a rather permanent home there. It was the way Brian looked at his lips when he spoke and not his eyes. It was the way he snapped when Roger spoke of his recent lays. It was the way he either recoiled, as though burnt, when Roger touched him or seemed to melt into it, with a brief hitch in his breathing. The thought was that Brian was, ever so possibly, attracted to him. And if there was one thing Roger could spot, even with his abismal vision, it was a jealous pining flatmate. Flirting with Joe was the exact scenario Roger was looking for. Two: It would be fun. 

“God, do you have to sleep with everybody? You know mindless sex isn’t a substitution for never having had a real relationship.” Brian snapped as he turned back to the countertop trying to hide a hurt expression.

A stillness hung in the air as Roger’s heart smarted. 

He tried to break the silence.

“You’re good at that.” Paper thin slices of potato, almost translucent, fluttered down upon the cutting board.

“I’m experienced with knives.”

“Right.”

The silence enveloped them once again. The biology student hadn’t expected all of the group’s tension to drift away on the seas of his own bruised face and stitched up cheek; and it hadn’t.   
\----  
Every ring of the doorbell seemed to announce the birth of a newly christened hell for the quartet.

Ring.

Golden locks and brick red lips. Mary. A peck on Freddie’s cheek and a bottle of wine laced delicately with an apology. 

“Please don’t feel badly dear; we understand. Work schedules and all.”

With that Freddie’s art school peer disappeared to her last minute shift at Biba.

The woman’s calming effect on Freddie left with her physical form. The dark haired student started pacing once again and snapped at Roger for suggesting Mary and Brian shag sometime. Roger frowned, thinking the joke had been quite funny.

Brian, seeming to think he was the only one capable of coming to this conclusion, enlightened them all that Jim would probably think this a set up for a date now that Mary, Freddie’s promised friend was gone. Freddie threw a pillow at his head. John ordered them all to stop as he had just tidied the flat (This was in fact, untrue. No one cleaned the flat other than Brian who assumed, quite innocently, that the mess just accumulated very quickly since one of the others had spruced the place up.).

Ring. 

Dark hair pointing out erratically from his head in thick waves and a worn in navy jumper. Jim. A bouquet of crisp white blooms and an explanation that his boyfriend was running a bit late.

“You have lipstick on your cheek.” Jim stayed a respectable distance away from Freddie as he spoke. He knew he was being watched, observed. His boyfriend would be here soon and he didn’t want Freddie’s friends to think him opportunistic. 

“Oh.” Freddie wiped at his high cheekbone.

Although, this became quite difficult for Jim, as Freddie, overjoyed by the temporary absence of Joe, was taking every advantageous moment to be physically near to him.

Freddie felt his face flush an absolutely obscene giddy colour as he placed a gentle hand on the Irishman’s sweater clad arm. Well he hadn’t flushed until Jim adjusted his arm, trying to move away from the art student. The effect of this, though, was the mutual blush they shared as Jim flexed his biceps and Freddie clung to his arm, thrown off balance but Jim turning. 

“Jesus Christ.” Brian threw his hands up into the air and walked back into the kitchen while John and Roger snickered.

He dropped Jim’s arm who in turn, suddenly felt very cold and very alone. 

A suffocating silence clawed at the sitting room to the point where even John, who had endured his fair share of awkward tension, felt he may choke.

The show must go on. Freddie plastered a smile on his face, careful to hide his teeth as he did so.

“Introductions then! Brian’s a bit touchy about some test he’s waiting for the results from, so please don’t mind him. This is John; he’s an absolute angel and an engineering student or something of the like.” John rolled his eyes but smiled, seeing Freddie had regained his footing. “And this Roger. Don’t know if you recognize him under those bruises. Most of them have faded now- luckily. He was going completely mad not being able to charm every soul that wandered past with a wink and smirk.”

“Hey! I’m perfectly charming even when I’m all banged up.” The blonde crossed his arms over his chest like a pouting two year old.

“You looked like Frankenstein's monster.”

“Shove it.” The blonde glowered at John as Freddie gave Jim an apologetic look. He was most certainly going to kill his flatmates for acting like children in front of Jim. He winced, turning to assess the damage and found, well, he found Jim laughing.

Huh. 

Maybe everything would be okay.

Ring.

Nevermind.

Cherubic curls and flushed cheeks. Joe. His fingers quickly laced through Jim’s; all smiles and apologies for his lateness. 

Freddie wondered if it was illegal to kill someone if they had foiled your plan to seduce a hot Irishman. Probably. Maybe he’d ask John to help him look into it later.

He made a mental note to thank Mary profusely for the wine as he downed a glass in the kitchen while Brian looked on in silent judgement. Freddie could see the outlines of bandages along his forearms through his paper thin white shirt. 

“Drink?”

Brian had a lot to do tonight and as such had decided not to drink. He had to check for his exam results, take notes, check for his exam results, do next week’s prereading, and, of course, check for his exam results. But perhaps the starchy air was getting to him because he found himself reaching towards Freddie’s offered glass.

Or perhaps, it was the fact he’d been in the kitchen all day trying to organize their meal. Trying to be a good friend to Freddie. Perhaps it was ignoring almost constant jabs about him being too thin and focusing on school too much; trying not to snap. Trying to be a good friend to John. Perhaps it was clarity that filled his mind that he tried to bury everytime a certain blonde touched him, or spoke to him, or was in the same room as him. It was getting unbearable. Perhaps it was the aforementioned blonde touching Joe’s arm, or laughing too hard at his jokes, or asking him questions about his job and trying to ignore the tidal wave of jealousy that crashed down upon his brain every damn time. Trying to be a, trying to be a something to Roger.

Between Brian and Freddie’s fried nerves the bottle disappeared in ten minutes. 

“You don’t think we’ll be drunk do you?”

“No, Freddie, I’m sure it’s fine to throw back half a bottle of wine in less time than Roger dedicates to his homework.” It was unnecessary to point out Brian’s scathing tone.

All the dishes were out and the table was set. Everyone sat waiting for Freddie to return with Brian and with Mary’s wine. 

Freddie grabbed Brian’s vest and pulled him close to whisper, as best he could, given the wine. “Look, this is fine, we can act sober. John was going to get a second bottle of wine. This isn’t suspicious. This is totally fine.”

“You mean the empty bottle over there?”

Brian gestured to their overflowing recycling container. Atop of which was a single gleaming, empty, wine bottle. John’s favourite brand.

Their eyes widened simultaneously. Roger was the only sober one among the lot. Shit.

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

They heard John hiccup from the sitting room. 

\---

To say the dinner went smoothly wouldn’t exactly be true. In fact, one might even go so far as to call it a lie. A blatant lie. A complete antithesis. An obscuring of basic and clear facts. A perversion of truth. The party, then, if they were to be honest, did not go smoothly.

Freddie couldn’t bear to relist all of the unfortunate roadblocks, potholes and other motorway related problems of the evening but three certainly stood out.

After Freddie and Brian had made their way back to the table with an emergency bottle of wine they mayyy have nicked from under Roger’s bed they put on a fairly good show of being sober. Well, that’s to say, Freddie stared unblinking at Jim as he spoke and Brian held his phone 2cm away from his face while he waited for the alert that grades had been assigned. 

Jim, trying his best to make pleasant (also see: non sexual) conversation with Freddie, asked about the various paintings around the flat depicting fantasy scenes of lush flowers (that looked suspiciously like the bouquets Jim arranged) and fairy kings. Upon hearing Freddie himself had painted them for various classes he quite uncharacteristically gushed to the starry eyed art student.

“Really? You did all these yourself? The colours are fantastic! The brush work, well, you’re quite talented Freddie.” The aforementioned continued to stare at the Irishman; a light blush sneaking up onto his face. He hoped the smudged in lipstick would disguise it. 

Jim, seeing Freddie’s delighted expression, continued against his better judgement. “Some of those line are so delicate. You must have quite steady hands.” 

A distinctly girlish giggle left Freddie’s lips.

The two of them were sat across from eachother, leaning in close, almost nose to nose. 

“You know, Jim, subtlety might be a nice change of pace here. Seeing as your boyfriend, if you remember he is indeed here, is sat right next to you.” John’s tipsy eyes widened a moment too late as he realized what he said was quite possibly a bit rude.

The two dark haired boys quickly leaned back into their seats, as though pulled back by strong magnets.

Roger elbowed him in the ribs. Fine. It had been quite rude.

Joe, you see, would’ve been offended by all this if he had been paying slightly more attention. Yes, he heard Jim’s praises and adorations for the art student and it had certainly annoyed him. But he had spent the last five minutes trying to figure out if the curly haired one was having a stroke. 

He had been acting odd since him and Freddie returned from the kitchen, staring intently at his cell phone and snapping at anyone who offered him a helping from the heaping piles of food in front of them. In the last few minutes he had started acting even more peculiar. He was staring wide eyed at the blonde one who was, in turn, staring at Joe with an awfully inviting half lidded smirking expression. Why was everyone here so completely, thoroughly, indescribably, odd?

This led into the second disaster of the evening.

Roger had been working quite hard, all evening, to seduce Joe. Now Joe wasn’t really his type, all serious and curly haired and studious, no, not his type at all. But Roger was trying his very best to be a good friend to Freddie and thought he could, at the very least, cause a row between Joe and Jim for him. If it had the side effect of making Brian jealous well, then, so be it.

Brian had been glowering at the two blondes all evening whenever he felt he could take a break from looking intently at his phone screen. If he heard Roger’s fake little laugh at one of Joe’s completely unfunny comments one more time he was going to strangle the both of them. He had an odd feeling Roger might enjoy that though. 

Although he would never admit it, not even under oath, not even under threat of death, not even under threat of Red Special’s death (okay fine maybe under threat of Red Special’s death), he enjoyed the following few minutes quite immensely. Well, something became immense anyway. 

The wine seemed to render him motionless save the blood rushing up to his face and the blood rushing down to other regions, as a foot brushed up against his thigh. He had thought the touches of his ankle and calf earlier had been accidents on Roger’s part- the man was quite unaware of where he stood in space- but it seemed that was not the case. 

Brian’s test results became decibels less important as he removed his gaze from the phone and looked instead into Roger’s eyes. Unfortunately that spark of eye contact that would’ve set off a blaze confirming many things for Brian never came as Roger was looking straight at Joe.

Oh, a knife dug into the physics student’s heart, a case of mistaken identity then. He knew he should tell Roger. Alert him somehow. Well, those were the thoughts that should’ve been in his mind. Instead all he could feel was a certain heat and a thrumming in a place where there most definitely shouldn’t have been a thrumming. Especially not such a rhythmic one. 

Brian dug his fingernails into his palm; trying his very best to keep still. To keep from breathing even. To keep Roger from noticing the legs he was prodding at were much longer than Joe’s. He wondered if Roger would think him a pervert for not saying. He wondered if it would turn Roger on. 

Roger had been trying to seal the deal with Joe, so to speak, and figured a little under the table action wouldn’t hurt. The problem laid in the fact that, above most else, Roger was a man of aesthetic. Silken fabrics, cigarette smoke and neon lights were the columns of his being. As such, he would most certainly never pair his old, thick lensed, glasses with his velvet overalls. Today Roger was wearing his velvet overalls. He misjudged the distance. His foot may have ended up in Brian’s lap.

Of course, none of these thoughts at the time ran through the biology student’s head. In fact, what he was thinking, as he finally inched his foot up was that Joe had a bigger cock than he thought he would.

Brian sprang up, red faced, from the table.

“Huh.” Roger’s late night dreams had some rewriting to do. 

These two events and the culmination of two hours spent prodding and poking and pestering one another had lead to the third event which was really several small events. 

Brian ran from the room, thoroughly flushed. 

His abandoned phone buzzed. The screen lit up. 

“84%.” John yelled into the kitchen.

Several loud crashes followed. 

Brian never reappeared.

This seemed to be the tipping point for Joe who had thought the lot of them to be insane all night. He gathered his coat and then turned in surprise when he realized Jim wasn’t next to him.

“What?” Jim’s brows knit together as he surveyed his boyfriend, genuinely unaware of the problem. 

“What? Your friends are maniacs! I’m surprised we could even fit in here with the size of their egos. Everyone in this flat is so self absorbed they can barely-”

“Don’t say that about Freddie; he’s my fr-”

“He’s clearly trying to shag you Jim.”

“I wouldn’t mind dating him either.” Freddie was quite a smart man and, as such, was more than aware this was the wrong thing to say. He didn’t particularly care; as long as it pissed off Joe.

“Hey! You’re only going to defend Fred? John and I are here too you know.” Roger questioned Jim.

“Do shut up dear.” Freddie glared at Roger who took that as his cue to leave the table and stretch out on the couch. A telltale click and curl of smoke followed.

“I’ll see you at home.” The door shut before Jim could edge in an answer to Joe. From the set of his jaw though it was clear he hadn’t been planning on speaking anyways.

Freddie took a few deep breaths. Perhaps he could still save this. Him and Deaky were a good team. Maybe they could convince Jim this was all terribly normal and nothing to worry about.

“So,” John shifted in his seat gesturing to Jim and Freddie, “are you two going to have sex now? I can leave if you want.”

The art student made a mental note to phone John’s mother and ask her who exactly had taught John his conversational skills and then hunt that person down and kill them.

“I think I’m going to get myself a drink.” Jim left the room.

Freddie glowered at John across the table until he retreated to his room to play, at overtly rude volumes, Queen Bitch by Bowie.

\----

This left Freddie alone. Well, he thought alone. He’d made a hasty exit, thoroughly embarrassed. Hopefully he’d see Delilah in the alley. She couldn’t judge him for the disastrous evening. She was a cat. There was a very slim chance she’s even been to a dinner party, nevermind hosted one.

The fluffy white and grey feline curled up into his lap as he sat on the grimey stoop behind the flat complex. 

He supposed he couldn’t even blame this on his flatmates. They’d tried to help, in their own ways. John really did think he was being helpful, Roger had tried to distract Joe and Brian had done his best to single handedly make their entire meal. No, this one was on him. Freddie wondered if Jim hated him now.

The art student didn’t have to ponder the question long before an answer clad in a wooly jumper came along.

“Fancy some company?”

That damn accent gave him away every time. 

“Not really.” 

Jim sat down next to him and stroked Delilah gently.

“You looked nice tonight.”

“I know.” Freddie stared at the cigarette ends littering the alley, willing Jim to go away.

“You can keep it, my jumper you still have.”

“I was going to.”

Delilah meowed haughtily and walked away from the two men slouched on the steps. 

A frigid wind picked up and Jim put his arm around Freddie who quickly shrugged it off.

“Don’t. You can’t. It’s not fair Jim.” He found his voice breaking on the other man’s name. As much as he wanted this, as much as he craved Jim’s touch, as sure as he was that he could twist the evening’s events, just enough, to make Joe look like the bad guy long enough to have his way with Jim, he knew it wasn’t right. 

It wasn’t that the art student was morally opposed to cheating. He’d been unfaithful more than a handful of times. But there was something deeply rooted in his heart that told him it would taint Jim. Taint his kindness and warm smile. In the end it would only serve to take the Irishman further away from Freddie and he didn’t think he could bare that. 

No, this was to be done right or not at all. He almost whimpered out loud as he realized which option it was going to have to be. 

“Freddie Mercury,” he turned to face Jim, who had a pained grin on his lips, “you’re a good man.”

Freddie thought back to when he was very young. He and his sister had begged their father to take them to watch a building demolition. All the kids at school had been talking about how cool the other one was. The explosion rocked a whole block they’d said. Their father had relented and walked them over to the empty lot across from the tall office building. Freddie had cried that night; it was nothing like the other kids said it would be. No massive boom. No metal scraps flying in every direction. No fire. Instead, it seemed to crumble in on itself. It didn’t even look purposeful; it just looked like the building had given up. 

That was how Freddie’s heart felt as Jim spoke to him. It seemed to crumple inwards; leaving him with a gaping hole in his ribcage and a rooted pain in its place.

He reached a tanned hand up to Jim’s face but didn’t let himself get any closer.

“Promise me one thing. In our next lifetime, it’s you and me, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The cold wind seemed to penetrate his skin and ripped at his tendons and muscles, at his bones and his crumbled up heart and his lungs. He felt refreshed, reborn.

“Cup of tea in the shop?”

“I wouldn’t say no to you, darling.”

The two men walked inside, and upon hearing the bell on the door, Delilah trotted after them.

Freddie couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the death of him. If watching Jim, speaking to Jim, touching Jim but not being able to have Jim would actually kill him. It certainly felt like it, he mused, as a sharp pain blossomed in his lungs and his stomach churned.


	8. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.

In the grand scheme of the universe two weeks was barely a blink of the galaxy’s everseeing eyes. Yet, the last 14 days seemed not to obey the principles of time. The hours had dragged by, embellished only with classes, work and sour gazes.

Their molten glances had cooled over the days- turned to ice then ash- none had the venom to care any longer. The hole punched in the living area wall had been hung over with a Blondie tour poster. The fresh cuts had faded to scabs and then soft scars.

Those had been particularly deep. Too deep. Even in his panic that night after the show to press and push and pull his ripped apart flesh back together he had felt a sick satisfaction in knowing it would be Roger who stumbled over his bled-out body curled around itself on their bedroom floor.

Despite their cooled tempers their injured egos wouldn’t let the three flatmates mend the friendship. They hadn’t played together since. Brian was sure Freddie had pulled them out of the competition by now. Two weeks was a long time.

The curly haired man felt an odd emptiness as he turned to ask Roger if he knew what their flatmate had done with their application. Right, Roger had been gone for two weeks. Well, not gone. He had moved one room over to the empty bed in Freddie’s room. Brian assumed he’d been too nauseated by the blood soaked paper towels Brian left in clumps around the room that night, as a cat shedding in the winter would with its own fur, to share a space with him any more. At least not such an intimate space.

And then there was, of course, the matter of the empty bed in Freddie’s room.

If the other two hadn’t been there to bare witness to their fluffy haired former flatmate’s presence Brian swore he would’ve assumed him to be a hallucination. The flat had been stripped of John’s belongings, save one messily scrawled note affixed to the fridge which gave quite clear instruction to not contact him under any circumstances, when Brian had arrived back from their ill-fated gig. Not that he had noticed at the time. He had had much more pressing matters to deal with first. His wrists ached at the very memory.

Freddie had yelled at him and Roger the next morning- blaming John’s departure on them. Brian still found himself worried about the younger boy. He wouldn’t take any of their phone calls and he hadn’t been at the record shop. Not that the three of them would admit to having individually checked the shop for their introverted bassist.

Hearing the flat’s main door close Brian figured it would be safe to venture out into the kitchen. Not that he was hungry- but he would much rather finish his notes on the large pockmarked table then hunched over in his bed.

Quite unfortunately he found himself to be a false prophet as he startled when Freddie and Roger’s bedroom door sprung open.

Please be Freddie.

Please be Freddie.

Please be Freddie.

He jerked his hand away from the dent in the table his thumb had been ghosting over. One of the many marks from Roger’s impromptu drum solos.

The telltale footfalls of worn in chucks rang through the flat.

0 for 2 then.

“Not that you give a fuck,” Brian refused to lift his eyes from his textbook as definitely not Freddie’s voice continued, “but I’m going to be at the LGBT Club’s meeting for the next hour and Freddie just left for work. So you’re free to sulk around the flat in peace or whatever it is you do for entertainment these days.”

The guitarist was silent.

“The therapist’s office has limited hours now- midterms and all- but I’m sure you knew that.”

Roger’s tone would’ve been cruel, wanted to be cruel even. But it seemed his friend- no, they weren’t friends anymore- it seemed his flatmate was influenced by pity. Brian could hear it in his voice. The blonde knew he wasn’t going to therapy; he pitied him but he most certainly did not care. He did not care that Brian was cutting more than ever. That the cuts were getting deeper. That more and more empty gin bottles piled up under his bed. Perhaps it was fair though- after all, Brian saw the horrifying number of cigarette cartons in their trash, saw the drummer’s bloody knuckles and the hole in their wall. He’d even seen Freddie’s pill container, sporting some new and exotic colours, grow in size since the gig- since John’s departure really. They all saw eachother falling apart yet none of them seemed to be able to muster the strength to ask one simple question- are you okay?

Despite his rich inner dialogue weighing their individual sins Brian remained quiet.

The door closing was deafening.

He moved his physics notes slightly askew to mark another tick on the back page of his notebook. Officially 13 days since he’d spoken to either of his flatmates. His initial reaction had been to wait out the storm but he was finding it harder and harder everyday. Why stay out in violent seas when a safe port was so close by? A port filled with blissful emptiness. No ticket needed. Just steady hands and a razor.

Alas, his parents would be heartbroken, only having one son and all. And he couldn’t disappoint them- not again. He eyed the essays shoved in his notebook, red ink glaring. B+. B-. C. C-. His midterm tomorrow was his chance at redemption.

The guitarist doubted Freddie had even noticed his lack of communication. He’d been spending more and more time downstairs in the peculiar flower shop ran by the peculiar Irishman. The art student had even started getting up early and making two cups of tea and trotting downstairs with them to spend the morning with his new friend. As a result their flat was filled to the brim with flowers. Red tulips peering from the laundry line and pink roses waving from the brims of doorways and yellow daffodils smiling from between couch cushions.

Brian worried their anger and hatred might suffocate the delicate blooms. When no one was looking he took special care to water and tend to the bruised petals and ripped leafs. He once even tied a marigold with a broken stem to one of Roger’s old drumsticks. He’d thought about giving it to Roger and then chastised himself for the foolish thought. He wiped his mistake from his brain later that day with steel and disinfectant clothes.

He wondered how long their self imposed exile would last. The guitarist couldn’t help but miss their movie nights, their jam sessions and, most of all, their support. In a short period of time the four men had grown oddly close and, in even shorter a time, managed to destroy it.

His three former friends would’ve been able to take his mind off the swirling vortex of anxiety his midterm had sparked. But they weren’t his friends anymore. He was alone with the pulsating textbook pages which seemed to mock his every attempt to learn an equalization equation.

Brian swallowed hard. Who was he if he wasn’t smart? He wasn’t funny or handsome or confident. Smarts was all he had- it had been music too but their band self destructed near instantaneously.

Eyes burning Brian was sure blood would start to leak from the sockets if he looked at his notes any longer. The tick of the clock taunted him. The blonde had been gone for a suspicious amount of time. Much longer than the promised hour. Perhaps he’d found some girl to seduce. Or maybe a man. The very thought made Brian feel ill for reasons he didn’t want to consider.

The nerve wracked guitarist started to worry he was quite perhaps the messiah as his very thoughts seemed to force the blonde man to materialize.

But this was not the Roger Brian had secretly wanted to see leaning against their doorway. The Roger he dreamt about late at night that left guilty sheets the next day. The Roger with a confident smirk but kind eyes. No- not that Roger. Not even the Roger with ragged breath and a fist through their living room wall. Nor the one he could still hear wretching in an alley with tears down his face.

No- this Roger only had one baby blue eye. Only a few locks of golden hair. Just a smattering of patches of perfect golden skin. This Roger, you see, had a swollen eye painted with blood bursting veins, red streaked hair matted at his head wound, and a face tattooed with bruises darkening quickly like a stormy London sky.

The clock that had been taunting him before barely had time to tick once as Brian flew across the room to his friend.

“God Rog- Roger! What happened at that meeting? Are you okay?” He rushed forwards wrapping his arms around the smaller man. The sight of blood not his own made his stomach turn- but- the thought of someone cracking open Roger to get it, well, that made his blood boil.

And somehow in the middle of the chaos and the blood Roger had the audacity to look up at him and smile. “I knew you still cared.”

He felt the need to cover his ears as the deafening sound of his heart shattering filled the room.

“I’m taking you to A & E.”

“But you have a midterm tomorrow! Look I’m fine- it’s just one black eye and maybe a concussion. I’ve had worse. I’ll have worse. I’ll heal.”

Brian hadn’t known Roger was paying any attention to his late night study sessions and worried phone calls to his classmates regarding the penultimate test.

The taller man briefly let go of the blonde who stumbled and teetered dangerously close to the floor. Brian slid his arm around the smaller’s waist to support him once again.

“Fine,” Roger huffed, “I promise you there will be hell to pay if this takes more than an hour though!”

The curly haired man found he had to keep their bodies pressed together as they shuffled down the stairs to keep Roger from falling. He was really quite warm. And his skin was really quite soft. And this was really not the time, Brian chastised himself.

He felt his heart seize and stop in his brittle rib cage as the blonde winced when the cold air hit his injuries.

“Out with it Taylor.” The guitarist didn’t have the patience to wait for the blonde to retell his tail as his anxiety plied mind was concocting more and more grotesque scenarios by the minute.

“Oh, Mr. May I like it when you get all impatient.” The drummer feigned a schoolgirl’s voice as he put his hand up to his blood coated forehead in fake fervor.

“Seriously Roger! I’m worried about you!” Brian spun him around outside the flower shop to face him.

The blonde’s dilated pupils focused on him finally. His voice was small when he spoke. “It looks worse than it it.” He pushed some dirt around with the tip of his trainer. “Are you really?”

Brian felt like his heart was wound with guitar strings much too tightly- each of them about to snap. “Am I really what?”

“Worried about me?”

Snap.

The guilt of ignoring his flatmates, his band- of ignoring Roger- that he had buried under bandages and sterile steel and coursework bubbled up, thick and viscous, in his throat. He almost choked on it.

“I’m always worried about you Roger.” He could barely hear himself.

Roger limped forward without him then and Brian scrambled to catch up. “I was on my way back from the meeting and I had a small disagreement with some blokes. Honestly they look worse than me.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“What was the disagreement about?” There was almost no point in asking; it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to crack the case. Mascara was still smeared around both his eyes after all.

“Me.”

“You?”

“Yeah Bri! Alright, me! They had a problem with my hair and my clothes and who I shag and what I say and what I think. Me- they had a problem with all of me.”

“You shouldn’t have picked a fight.”

“I know.”

“But you deserve to exist.”

“I know.” Brian heard his voice crack then and remained silent as they trudged into the station.

The bedraggled pair got their fair share of odd looks on the tube as they made their way to the nearest hospital. The searing glares of the other carriage members shot Brian’s mind back to their dismal gig.

“You’re now passing Waterloo Station.” The metallic, garbled, tube voice rang out.

Ten minutes left until their station. No time like the present then.

He felt his hand tighten involuntarily on Roger’s waist. He prayed the blonde didn’t notice.

“So the gig, I mean it was-”

“Shit?” Brian would’ve smacked Roger if he hadn’t already been so banged up.

“No- I mean, yeah, we were shit but the music was good- really good.”

Roger squinted his eyes in confusion as the line of carriages jerked around the vast underground network. Well, Brian assumed he was trying to squint. One eye twitched a bit and the other was already swollen shut and therefor not particularly helpful in the execution of facial expressions.

“Fine our music was good but we’re never going to find another bass player like Deaky and you know it.”

“We’ll get him back Rog.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I have to.”

Roger’s gaze fell to the floor then.

“I’m sorry Bri. I never thought you took music as seriously as the rest of us.”

Brian couldn’t help but laugh at that as thoughts of the endless sanding and shaping and gluing and tuning filled his head. Good ole Red Special certainly had been a dedicated project.

“Well I’ve got to now; at this rate I’m definitely going to fail my midterm tomorrow.”

He knew his words had been misplaced as the blonde winced; he hadn’t meant to make him feel like a burden.

“You don’t have to come in with me ya know. Just drop me off; you’ve already done enough- more than enough.”

Guilt curled in Brian stomach. Roger had taken his brash comments worse than the punches that had left him bloody, sick and dizzy.

The curly haired man shifted so he faced the blonde and, ever so gently, with the back of his hand, tilted Roger’s chin up, so they were looking eye to eye.

The map of bruises across the drummer’s face made Brian want to be sick.

“I want to help you Roger; none of this is your fault. If I ever find out who did this to you…” 

It was moments like these that Roger usually chose to rib Brian or mock him or take the piss. But there was something unceding and cruel that roiled beneath his honey hued eyes. Something other than the usual kindness and worry. Something perversely dark.

A beat of silence passed between them.

The blonde clenched his jaw; trying to ready himself for his next words.

“The night of the gig when I asked,” the smaller man removed Brian’s hand from his chin then, no longer able to stand the intimate contact, “when I asked if you were going to cut- I- I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and broken, like a child who was apologizing for breaking his mother’s favourite vase.

“I’m sorry too.” When he focused he could still hear the sound of Roger vomiting in the alley.

The automated voice announced their destination with metallic efficiency.

“Are we going to be okay Brian?” As he finally looked up at the guitarist again the weak light that had wormed its way through two meters of concrete reflected off the golden stars in his ears.

“We’re going to be okay.”

As a doctor checked over Roger, and confirmed he had a concussion, heavy bruising and would need stitches on the cut that adorned his left cheekbone, Brian felt his anger rise to levels so high the next wave of it spilled over the top of his head, his body no longer able to contain the very rage he felt. How dare anyone try and dictate who another was supposed to be? Especially confident, kind, smart Roger? How could anyone see him and tear apart his very fabric, based solely on things that didn’t matter? They didn’t know he was a prodigy on drums. They didn’t know he drove back to Cornwall every Thursday to see his sister and mum. They didn’t know he was the only Biology undergraduate at London Imperial to have a paper published this quarter. They didn’t know how he brought Brian takeout when the other man had been immersed in his notes all day and forgotten to eat. They didn’t know how he helped the old woman in the flat across from them finish the crossword in the Daily Mail every Saturday morning, no matter how hungover he was. They didn’t know Roger.

“I texted Freddie.” Brian startled as the blonde pulled him out of his thoughts. “Deaky too, but I’m not expecting anything back.”

“Right yeah, actually when Freddie gets here do you mind if I pop out for a second?”

“What, need a smoke break?” Brian rolled his eyes as he saw Roger chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette, the hospital staff all shooting daggers at him.

Before any of them had managed to come over and chastise the angel faced rule breaker a tornado of shiny waves and mismatched patterns ripped through the room.

Freddie hugged them both so hard Brian was sure a rib had been forced out of place. He gave Roger a sympathetic look as he exited.

“Don’t worry- I know how to cover those bruises with makeup- you’ll look right as rain in no time.” Freddie’s assurances that he was experienced in concealing injuries made Brian feel lightheaded.

Two floors down and he swore he could still hear Freddie fussing over Roger.

The ice surrounding the three flatmates had broken and melted as it became apparent, in the face of a real problem, how childish they were being. Brian figured it he swung this right he might even be able to use it to reclaim their skittish bassist.

Freddie was obviously closest with John, and, Roger had been building up a nice friendship with him prior to their disastrous evening; Brian on the other hand. He had never been able to crack the engineering student’s hard shell like the other two but there was one thing they had in common- crippling shyness.

He knew John was embarrassed and sad and riddled with anxiety and guilt. And Brian knew better than the other two where someone would go when they felt like that. Somewhere open but desolate of people. Somewhere you could hide in plain sight.

A twenty minute tube journey later and Brian found himself at Queen Victoria Park. This time of day it was essentially abandoned meaning the long haired boy, bundled up in a distressingly bright and hideously patterned windbreaker, sitting on the bank of the pond could only be one person.

“John?” He didn’t even look surprised as he turned around, water bottle in hand, filled with a liquid Brian could guarantee wasn’t water.

“Wondering when you’d find me here. Thought it’d be Freddie though. No offense.”

That stung. “None taken.”

“I may have thrown my phone out of a third floor balcony in case you’re wondering why I haven’t been answering your texts.”

The guitarist’s eyebrows shot up. Apparently Roger wasn’t the only one with anger problems. “Right. Sure.”

He sat down next to John who then moved over several feet. He had to raise his voice so John could hear him from so far away.

A silence fell over the brunette as Brian retold the story of Roger’s injuries.

“Look, I get that’s awful Brian, and I hope he feels better soon, but that doesn’t erase what happened two weeks ago. You’re better off without me. Everyone is”

It was in that moment Brian’s heart broke for the third time that day. The surity, the certainty, with which John announced he didn’t matter was revolting, heart wrenching, disgusting. His phrasing sent a shiver of familiarity down the physics student’s spine. Everyone. He hoped the bassist had just meant his three flatmates but Brian had a sinking suspicion he meant the entire world itself.

“No, John, we’re not. No one is. We all fucked up two weeks ago; but I think we can do this. Really make something of ourselves. But we need you.”

Brian had counted eighteen leafs falling from the overhead maples before John answered.

“Fine. But you’d better stop trying to skip Cher songs on Spotify.” He rolled his eyes. 

“I notice everything Brian- remember that.” John continued on a more serious note; an almost threatening note.

His feeling of triumph was hampered slightly as John remained silent the entire tube journey back to the hospital.

Well, he couldn’t ask for a miracle.

When they appeared in Roger’s room John was met with a hug from Freddie so enthusiastic it threw him off his feet.

“Roger you’d better give me my damn room back.” He muttered from the floor.

“God, I don’t care where I sleep I just want to be left undisturbed for a week.” The blonde groaned into his pillow.

“I don’t think we have anything planned for a while. That whole not speaking to eachother thing kind of put a damped on our social lives.” Deaky ventured with a small raise of his eyebrows.

“What social life?” Roger jabbed John in the ribs knowing he would face no retaliation laying in his hospital bed.

Freddie clearing his throat made the group roll their eyes. Of course Freddie had something planned.

“So, Brian dearest, do you know how to cook potatoes?”


	9. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.

the entire first paragraph is dedicated to the anon who sent me six (6) messages with the only text being ‘deaCy’  
\----

Freddie did not consider himself a particularly conniving man, nor, did he consider himself crafty, or, even slightly conspiratory; in fact he did not consider himself to be any synonym of such a word beginning with ‘c’. Well, he hadn’t until he carefully constructed an entire week in which the sole purpose was to convince his capricious flatmates to form a band.

They had been more than willing to repeat their previous impromptu music session- in fact- it had been Deaky who had suggested the other three stop by the record shop he worked at after closing so they could play a few songs. There was something addictive about the way their individual sounds melted together and birthed something strange and new.

Sitting across the table from Brian, who thought him to be working on his long overdue art homework, Freddie sketched out a design. A logo. The band logo. Their band logo.

Well he hoped it would be their band logo.

They hadn’t even agreed to the name yet. Queen. It was outrageous and regal and perhaps, just a smidgeon naughty. He liked it. He knew Roger would adore it, Brian would act scandalized but secretly love the glam and drama of it all, John- well John was always a mystery.

The last week had also consisted of a lot of secrecy.The dark haired artist had spent a considerable chunk of time angling his laptop screen away from the prying eyes of his well meaning flatmates who wanted to see his latest project. He claimed it wasn’t good enough yet for human eyes to be lain upon it when in reality he was setting up skeletal social media pages for their yet unformed band. He wanted everything to be perfect when he spilled the secret to them.

He wanted it to be impossible for them to say no.

Freddie had even spent all of thursday begging various bar owners for a performance slot instead of attending his friend Peter’s infamous weekly all day pub crawl through Camden. Out of the eighteen bars he harassed only one had given him the go ahead. Even then it was only because of a last minute cancellation from a band called ‘Wreckage’.

Now, sitting at the large table shared by four students as a desk, Freddie felt nerves set in. He had been trying to find his voice to broach the subject for nearly half an hour. Their first gig was only five days away and, as of yet, only one fourth of the group knew they were even in a band.

He knew they cared about music as much as he did- Roger was more likely to be working on song lyrics than his homework, Brian’s free time was monopolized by tinkering away at his homemade guitar and scratching down melodic key changes on scrap paper and John had taken advantage of a homework project to build his own amplifier.

Freddie was confident in their love for music- he just wasn’t sure about their fondness for him.

“So, I’ve been thinking and-”

“Thinking? That must be a first for you Fred.” Freddie stewed at both the nickname and Roger’s interruption.

“I’m impressed Roger, didn’t know you understood the concept of a thought.” Deaky managed, while keeping his eyes on Freddie, not letting himself give Roger the satisfaction of his attention.

“You’ve been thinking of what Freddie?” Typical Brian, getting them back on track. The art student could see the tiredness around Brian’s eyes and his slightly shaky hands; what dominated his face, though, was annoyance at their bickering when he had been trying to finish his coursework. Freddie suspected he’d best make it to the point in a hurry should he want Brian not to bite off his head.

“At the shop later, maybe we could try out some of the songs Brian and I have been writing? Instead of just doing covers?”

“Hey what about-”

“We’re not singing I’m in Love with My Car!” Brian and Freddie snapped in unison at a pouting Roger. The blonde had long been trying to con his flatmates into trying out his new, rather innuendo ridden, song.

“I mean sure but why the change of pace?” The curly haired physics student ventured cautiously.

A single sideways glance at Deaky all week would have shown Freddie that their bassist had already figured it out. Unfortunately he’d been much too wrapped up in his own decedent imaginings of the band so the words parting John’s lips were quite a surprise.

“You can’t play covers at the Elektra Band Competition.” He raised an eyebrow at Freddie challenging him to dismiss the claim as false.

“What band Freddie? We play covers of old songs no one knows in the basement of a failing- sorry John- failing record shop!” Roger’s chair wailed backwards as he stood with his angry proclamation.

Annoyance clouded the vocalist’s vision. Why couldn’t he see what they could become?

“Surely you can hear us through the racket you make on your drums,” Freddie stood so he was nose to nose with Roger, “we’re good! We’re special.”

“Is the racket I make on my drums special too?” Freddie had never expected to feel threatened by the slight blonde in a sheer chiffon shirt but there was something odd lurking behind his eyes. Something tumultuous and raw, clawing to get out. He felt himself wishing Deaky and Brian were standing up with them too as Roger shoved his shoulder waiting for a response.

“Calm down Rog-”

“I’m getting a drink.” The blonde snapped at Brian’s defence of Freddie, not so much as sparing a look to the vocalist, as he stomped into the kitchen.

He felt himself looking desperately to the other two.

“Look, we’re good, great even, but, I mean, we don’t really have the time to dedicate to it properly do we?” If Brian had meant it, really meant it, Freddie would’ve dropped it. But behind that facade of tight schedules and equalisional woes he could see the hunger in the guitarists eyes. He saw how the curly haired man melted into a good riff and soaked up the vibrations of a ridged sixpence on expertly tightened strings. He wanted this too.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Freddie startled not even realizing Roger had reappeared from the kitchen. He was holding a bottle of beer looking thoroughly horrified.

“Non-alcoholic beer.” Brian stated as though that was a normal thing to purchase. It was like the nut cheese all over again. Freddie rolled his eyes bracing for impact.

The drummer dragged the back of his hand over his lips trying to remove the offending liquid.

“And why, if I may ask, the absolute fuck, would you waste your money on this?”

Oh good, thought Freddie dryly, now Brian was standing up.

“Well, Roger some of us actually have disposable income because we work.”

“I work too! You cuddle animals all day Bri, you’re gayer than I am.”

Brian looked to Freddie to defend him, knowing he himself was unable to tell Roger of all people not to describe things as gay. Unfortunately for Brian Freddie had quite enough of Roger’s temper for one day and remained silent.

“You get paid in beer most days- how do you expect to make rent this month anyways?”

Just as Freddie was giving up he saw his opening. Thank you frugal Brian.

“There’s a prize you know.” A smirk formed on his face as the arguing party looked over.

“What sort of prize?” Roger looked over distrustfully at him.

“Four thousand pounds for the winner. Which we will be of course.” He quite decidedly let it slip his mind that is was one thousand pounds in cash and three thousand pounds worth of studio recording time. They could figure it out later.

“We haven’t played in front of an audience before.” John finally dragged himself into the conversation.

“We don’t even have a name. Freddie the logistics of setting up a band in time are insane. We don’t have the time-” Fully grinning now he cut Brian off.

“Ye of little faith! While you three have been lazing around-”

“Hey!”

“Shut up Roger.”

“-lazing around. I’ve been hard at work. Our first gig is in five days at the bar on Cromarty. I’ve already done up posters, we just need to hang them around the university. We have the evenings to practice. Between the four of us we have enough original songs for a set.”

“The name?” John smiled at Freddie.

Elegant fingers parted his sketchbook to the design he’d been nurturing all day.

“Lions, two of them, for Leo- Deaky and Roger, a crab for Cancer- Brian, and two fairies for Virgo- me. Queen.”

Calloused fingers ghosted across the page. “Fred, did you really do all this?” The anger had seeped from the blonde who was mystified by what their flatmate had managed to accomplish in just seven days.

“You like it?” It was the first time the art student let the insecurity he felt colour his voice.

“It’s amazing.” Brian smiled in spite of himself.

“Screw that- its bloody brilliant!” Roger slung his arm around Freddie.

“Deaky?” He ventured to their silent bass player.

“Who do you think called and cancelled on behalf of ‘Wreckage’?”

“You sly bastard!” John would never cease to surprise him.

“Wait won’t they still show up then?” The tallest of their group tilted his head at John.

“Found their number too. Unfortunately the bar had double booked that night and sent their regards but they had to go with the band they booked first.” The bassist stretched his hands behind his head as if he had absolutely nothing to do with the whole scenario.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side Deaky.” Brian laughed at John who just raised his eyebrows as though it were far too late for that.

“So, five days,” the fourth of them leaned in together conspiratorially, “we’d best get going dears.”

—

It wasn’t as if Freddie had expected them to start braiding eachother’s hair and and painting one another’s nails but he had expected the usual spark of tension between the quartet to ease with the announcement of their band. Instead, they had all been yelling, slamming doors and trading insults for the past three hours.

“I just don’t see why we need to dress up like a bunch of-”

“Like a bunch of what Brian? I would love to hear the end of that sentence.” Roger growled as held an unlit cigarette between his lips. This was his work around to Brian’s constant complaints about him smoking indoors. Technically speaking it wasn’t actually smoking if it was unlit. This never failed to make Brian furious.

Apparently fury made him bold because his next move was to pluck the cigarette from Roger’s lips and throw it in the trash.

“We’ve been over this Roger,” his tone was painfully condescending, “no smoking indoors?”

Hoping to save their guitarist from certain death Freddie cut in.

“Look, dear, everyone dressed that way in the 70s! Plus it’s sexy! Right Deaky? Deaky!”

With an expression that rivaled that on an overworked mother of six John looked up from the amp he was rewiring. “You and Roger just want Brian and I to dress like you two and smear glitter on our faces.”

Brian’s triumphant smile was quickly wiped off his face by the bassist’s follow up.

“But, I think it will go with the image we’re reaching for. Glam rock and all that? You already have the hair for Bolan so you can shut it Brian.”

“Let’s just try on a few looks and see if we like the vibe, if not, we can start over.” Freddie prayed to every God he knew that that wouldn’t be the case. He simply could not listen to this again.

“I cannot believe you’re forcing us to play dress up.” Brian glared from the couch as Roger tugged on his hand.

Freddie was quite pleased with Deaky as his subject instead of the temperamental guitarist, until that is, he looked over and saw the man’s sour expression.

He was sure serial murderers had more lively expressions than the bassist who was giving him a dead eyed look as he smoothed the frizz from his hair and adorned him with satin after they made their way into the smaller of the two bedrooms.

Although, he didn’t fail to note the way the younger man’s eyes briefly fluttered close as he stroked at his surprisingly long hair, which, given the right product, now fell in lovely pre-raphaelite waves down to his gaunt collarbones. Oh, to have the metabolism of a teenage boy again.

Taking advantage of the quiet surrounding the two of them in their bedroom, Freddie dared to question for the first time his faith in their newly conceived band.

Eyes still closed John answered. “You felt that too, didn’t you? The first night when it felt like we were floating miles off the ground, up in space? That’s why you did all this. Obviously we still have a lot of work to do, but Freddie, this band is everything to me.” If he hadn’t have known better he would’ve sworn the younger’s voice had broken.

He wrapped his arms around John from behind, enveloping him in a hug, feeling the panoply of fabrics he’d wrapped him in. The crochet vest, satin blazer and bowtie, the significant window of skin left open on his chest.

“At the very least we’ll look divine.”

He didn’t need to look to see John rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

—

Roger wasn’t getting along nearly as well with Brian in their room.

“I know how to put on a shirt, lay off!” Brian shoved the blonde away from him.

“God, I was just trying to help!” The pouty blonde slouched away.

Brian felt his cheeks glow at an unbearable temperature as Roger continued looking at him. He was conscious of his every move under that gaze and became acutely aware of every imperfection on his body he most certainly did not want the drummer to see.

“Can you fuck off? I’m trying to put on this ridiculous outfit.” He would slit his own throat before admitting he was actually quite enamoured by the billowy white fabric carefully sewn through with pleats and silver thread.

“If you think that’s ridiculous you must think I dress like an absolute loon.” The raising heat in Roger’s voice made him roll his eyes. He was mesmerized by Roger’s choice in clothing everyday; he spent at least ten minutes trying to pick it apart with his mind and figure out which section of a store various parts had come from: men’s or women’s?

“Well let’s just say I wouldn’t be caught dead in them.” The much too tight to be decent pink blouse Roger wore yesterday sprung to mind. He was surprised when, by the end of the day, the buttons hadn’t burst open. Not that he had been looking at Roger’s chest for any particular reason. No sir.

“Oi, you can go fuck yourself Bri. In fact,” the devilish smile formed a pit in Brian’s stomach as the blonde dug through his night stand, “I probably have something in here you could use.”

At least Brian could correct himself now, it was, infact, possible for his blush to deepen.

“God, Roger, you’re disgusting!” He then tried very hard not to think about the exact implement the drummer was talking about and how exactly it was to be used.

“You’re such a prude! I’m 90% sure you’re a virgin.”

“What about the other 10%?”

He swallowed nervously as Roger approached him again and leaned in just a bit too close.

“I’ve seen your fingers when you play guitar; that has to be a transferable skill?”

Caught up in deeply inappropriate thoughts as well as an all consuming rage at his flatmate for putting those thoughts there in the first place Brian didn’t notice him flick open the last button of his shirt and pull it off while throwing the new one at him with a smug smirk and directions to bloody get changed already as the blonde leaned up against the doorway.

What he did notice was the cool air hitting his raw forearms and the look of horror that soon fell over Roger’s face.

“Bri,” Roger’s voice was low and quiet, “I didn’t know I’m so sorry, I-”

Brian clawed frantically at the tunic, not hearing the rest of the blonde’s apology, as he shoved the garment over his head of curls, for once not taking any care for their well being.

“Look its fine, I, I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?” The brunette tried his hardest to speak in a normal tone but found himself unable to hear for the river of blood rushing around his brain.

“Not talk about it? It seems like that’s the sort of thing you need to talk about. I’m not saying you have to talk to me- but someone- anyone!”

His rational brain told him Roger was only doing this out of concern but his emotions were much louder.

“Can you not make something about yourself for once and just drop it!”

They both froze as footsteps approached.

“Helloooooo, are you ever going to come out and join us?” Freddie’s sing song tone evaporated into the tension of their bedroom.

“Roger already has; I think we’re only waiting on Brian to come out now.” The guitarist could barely hear Freddie’s laughter at John’s joke.

Brian gave Roger a pleading look.

Blonde hair obscured doe eyes as the drummer gave a curt nod.

Relief, if only temporary, flooded over Brian.

The two soon joined John and Freddie in the living area to evaluate the band’s new look but all Roger could see were thin pink and red lines sitting grotesquely on the guitarists arms, while all Brian could see was the disgusted look on his roommate’s face as the blonde gazed upon his body.


	10. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four London undergraduates navigate the tumultuous seas of friendship, sexuality and life as the clock ticks down on a make or break music competition. The quartet must put aside their differences and learn to grow together if they want to actualize their dreams.

Together the four of them toiled away under indigo velvet skies; hot sticky breath of the upcoming deadline prickling the hairs on their necks.

 

School, work, practice session, homework, pub, bed (this part wasn’t optional).

 

School, work, practice session, homework, pub, bed (this part was mostly not optional).

 

School, work, practice session, homework, pub, bed (this part was usually not optional).

 

School, work, practice session, homework, pub, bed (this part was optional).

 

School, work, practice session, homework, pub, coffee (this part wasn’t optional).

 

Despite the disaster of their first gig they’d been pulled back into a practice session by a power much higher than them- Freddie Mercury. And then another one. Then another one. Another one. Another. Another. Another. Another. Another. Another. 

 

Brian’s finger’s ached. Roger’s throat throbbed. John’s head ached. Freddie seemed unaffected. By all standards their punishing practice schedule to ready them for the semi-finals should’ve wreaked havoc on the art student’s voice, should’ve left him sore, should’ve elicited at least one complaint from his lips. But no. Perhaps it was his determination. His hot headed need to succeed. His sheer joy at performing.

 

Or perhaps.

 

Perhaps it was the delicate little pink pills that passed his lips in the rather early hours of the morning. Or the extremely late hours of the night. Or the quite normal hours of the afternoon. Not that the afternoon was a normal time to be popping uppers.

 

But their work was paying off; they were starting to believe in a preordained destiny that involved them gracing the world’s stages and laying in piles of cash.

 

John had transformed himself from the timid boy at their doorway, flanked by his parents; then transformed himself yet again from the crying boy in the alley behind the pub. He seemed to cry out his reservations that night. Or, at the very least, embraced the hell he was willing to put himself through to be a part of Queen. To belong. He now danced upon their makeshift stage in the basement of the record shop at which he spent his earlier working hours with a gusto and confidence that would’ve seemed alien to the John of a month ago. He spoke up. He wrote songs. He played a damn good bass.

 

He passed out, blind drunk, missing his Monday morning class presentation, for which he had been doing shots to calm his racing heart. 

 

Brian no longer sneered at the glittery flowing fabrics they chose to coronate themselves with. He was lightyears away from the boy disgusted by Freddie’s flamboyance and Roger’s shifting sea of gender and sexuality. He now relished the feel of heavy silk on his skin. Now he respected, envied really, his friends’ rooted and flowery relationship with their own gender and sexuality. Bile no longer rose in his throat when Roger appeared in a woman’s blouse. He posed and postured almost as much as Freddie as he strummed his guitar. He demanded some lights be pointed at him. He’d put in work to his stage presence as well and demanded it be shown off. He was the best guitar player in the UK- at least London.

 

He hadn’t eaten anything, save vegetable broth, in the last 24 hours.

 

Roger seemed indistinguishable these days from their flatmate of a month prior. He hadn’t changed though; just let himself, his true self, seep through the cracks of his brash cool boy persona. It had been hairline fractures at first. Bringing Brian vegan snacks. Making sure no one hassled Freddie when he went to the nail salon. Giving John his sunglasses to spare him from having to make eye contact with people. But the drummer’s true self burst forth, a deep and winding river over a crumbling dam. He bought glow stars at a rummage sale and adhered them above Brian’s bed after the curly haired boy received a bad grade. Brian had kept them up. He went to a dance class with Freddie after Mary had cancelled on him. He’d hugged John goodnight after hearing John’s father cursing him out over the phone for his ‘failings as a man’. He still hit his drums just as hard. Just as skilled. Not everything had changed. He was deceptively skilled.

 

He threw their kettle out a window in a fit of rage Tuesday.

 

The seas of misfortune in which Freddie was tossed following his unceremonious banishment from his family home seemed to pull and polish his mind. He wasn’t the self involved, bordering on pretentious, insecure, bordering on manic, boy that first mistook a flower shop for a chippy. The cruelty that had seemed to settle around him cleared the haze around his mind. Showed him how important kindness was. Selflessness was. Happiness was. He knew who he was now. Who he loved now. Freddie commanded the stage like no other before him and no other after him would. His voice made angels kill themselves for their shortcomings. He was extraordinarily talented. 

 

He bought a blister pack of pills from a man in hoodie Wednesday. 

\---

The next 24 hours held a beautiful oasis for the foursome. A break. No classes. A rest for their voices. The first round of the band competition’s elimination were placed, a looming monster, at the end of said oasis, but they’d be damned if they didn’t enjoy it.

 

John was at a Bee Gees tribute act concert with Veronica.

 

Freddie was at a new art installation with Mary.

 

Brian was enjoying the quiet of the flat with a cheesy sci-fi film; his university books tucked away under his bed.

 

Roger was supposed to be in Cornwall visiting his sister but due to nothing, other than his impossibly bad time management skills, he found himself in a trainless train station. This led him back to a John and Freddieless flat.

 

Brian wasn’t so much enjoying the silence as  _ trying  _ to enjoy it but was finding it increasingly difficult due to exactly three factors.

 

Roger’s neverending stream of questions regarding the validity of the film. 

 

_ No, Roger I don’t know if the aliens use a carbon or oxygen based biological processing system. _

 

_ No, Roger I don’t know if the spaceship runs on a petroleum based fuel. _

 

_ No, Roger I don’t know if they have a class based taxation system. _

 

_ What do you know then Bri? _

 

Brian had thought about replying:  _ I know how to shut you up.  _ But the very thought of what Roger’s retort might be caused his toes to curl and face to flush.

 

The second problem was that the film was much less entertaining, much less visually  _ stimulating,  _ than watching Roger’s nimble fingers twirl a beaten wooden drumstick. Than observing how Roger’s tongue would drag across his lips as the stale flat air clung to them. Than wondering how golden silk had managed to intertwine itself with his blonde locks- the two basically indistinguishable. 

 

The film’s one saving grace was that it was a much safer space for Brian’s brain to dwell than thoughts of his own sexuality. These, of course, only seemed to crop up around Roger. Brian had accepted, between glimpses of the blonde fresh from the shower or leaning over a thick textbook with glasses perched on his nose, that he was jealous of Roger. It seemed the only reason left for his racing heart and hitched breath when the drummer shifted on the couch, his shirt pulling up, exposing his mid drift. Brian, though, figured this was an anomaly. One that would pass once he found a girlfriend. The problem lay deeply in the fact not a single woman yet was as smart, as funny, as kind, as  _ attractive  _ as Roger. He sighed.  _ Oh, jealousy.  _ He just wished he could express himself as freely as Roger.

 

The third peak of the mountain range that blocked Brian’s path to a relaxing day was the vile, inviting, sickly, luscious smoke that curled out of Roger’s mouth in lovely tendrils and wrapped themselves around the lamp, the chesterfield, hovered above the panoply of rugs, penetrated the soft cushions on the sofa the two shared, and snaked its way into Brian’s nostrils. 

 

They had  _ explicit  _ no smoking rules in the flat.

 

“Do we really have to do this again?”

 

“Do what?” Blue doe eyes, begging to be taken in an innocent manner, were obscured by a pink smirk.

 

Brian’s jaw clenched. 

 

“You know  _ what _ .” The smoke seemed to grow thicker.

 

“Oh, I’m not an astrophysicist like you Brian, you’ll have to explain it to me.” His lips formed a perfect o around the cheap white filter.

 

The guitarist felt a heat raising up in his chest, anger, he assumed. He was just trying to have one,  _ one,  _ relaxing day. 

 

It must’ve been the smoke cutting off the oxygen to his brain that caused him to snap. Or the sharp hunger in his stomach. Or the constant dull pain branching up his forearms. 

 

Or, very possibly, Roger was just annoying him.

 

A too thin hand closed on the blonde’s wrist and jerked the cigarette away from his lips. Brian leaned in close, his hand tightening on Roger’s wrist. 

 

“Stop. Smoking. Indoors.” He twisted his hand, snaking his fingers between Roger’s, and grabbed the offending nicotine filled stick. 

 

“Clear enough for you Rog?” He slouched back in his seat, feeling more than a bit smug, at Roger’s slightly agape expression.

 

The blonde had never once, in his short twenty years on this planet, given up without a fight, or, at the very least, making things extremely difficult for all parties involved. He wasn’t about to start now.

 

Roger leaned to retrieve his cigarette from Brian.

 

Roger’s version of leaning, though, was not especially conventional. Some might call it unconventional. Odd. Strange. Startling. Sexual. Yes, that was it. They’d probably call it sexual. For it wasn’t really leaning so much as climbing onto Brian’s lap and reaching up to pluck his possession from the physics student’s outstretched arm. 

 

Brian, not terribly experienced with men straddling him on a couch, their hair falling in his mouth as they tried to wrestle a cigarette from his hand, became quite still. Thoughts of the dinner party  _ altercation  _ wrapped around his head and his brain.

 

Roger brought his newly won cigarette to his lips and inhaled, eyes closed. 

 

“Could you- the smoke- can you just-” The pathways in his brain seemed to be crossed, tangled in a great heap, his neurons screaming. Something clicked deep in his head. No, deeper than his head. Something clicked in his heart. He wasn’t jealous of Roger; he was  _ attracted  _ to Roger. Romantically. Sexually. In every way.  _ Fuck. _

 

_ Fuck. _

 

_ Fuck. _

 

_ Fuck. _

 

“Want to try it?” Roger’s eyes were darker than Brian had ever seen them. He still hadn’t moved from Brian’s lap.

 

“What?” He was surprised he pulled himself together enough to answer. His head spun wildly like a dreidel set loose across linoleum. “Your cigarette?” His brows drew together and his annoyance started to return. At least anger grounded him. His hands moved up to Roger’s waist, intending to push him off. 

 

The fabric of his shirt was impossibly soft, it felt how he imagined a galaxy might. The heat of Roger’s sides seeped through the thin fabric. Brian hesitated.  

 

“Just so you know what you’re missing.” If he hadn’t have known better Brian would’ve described Roger’s eyes as pleading.

 

He later blamed his strung out mind from lack of food and an odd rush of adrenaline for the small nod.

 

“Anyways, it doesn’t count if you do it this way.”  Roger took a long drag on his cigarette.

 

“What way?”

 

What followed often rattled around Brian’s late night thoughts and long showers.

 

He lowered the cigarette, mouth closed, lungs brimming with smoke, and leaned forward. 

 

In a situation like this, not that he’d ever  _ purposely  _ fantasized about Roger, he most certainly had never done that, never imagined the blonde beneath him, moaning his name, no, never, not to say that those thoughts hadn’t popped in unwelcome from time to time, Brian always assumed he’d be quick to push him away. To scold him for overstepping the bounds of their relationship. To yell at him for teasing him like that. To punish him for thinking that this wouldn’t stir something deeper within Brian.

 

Instead, as Roger’s lips pressed against his, he opened his mouth, tangled his fingers in long blonde hair. Smoke languished into Brian’s mouth and down his throat, assaulting his airways. His nose burned and his bronchioles constricted; his head spun, but, that was for a much different reason. He felt eyelashes on his cheekbone, shame in his head and a tightness in his stomach. 

 

The stars he studied danced on his eyelids. Brian was sure smoke had permeated every fold and alveoli studding his lungs. His brain screamed out for oxygen; he told it to shut up.

 

His natural instinct to, well, breath, proved stronger than his will to keep Roger’s lips on his. He pulled Roger’s head back roughly with the hand tangled in his blonde hair. At least that was payback for the hours the blonde had spent toying with his curls.

 

Roger bit back a moan.

 

The two boys eyed eachother, only too aware of the shift they’d created in their universe. Brian choked on the smoke trying to expel itself from his body as Roger stared on, mezmorized,  _ guilty _ .

 

He was quite aware of what he’d done. Of what he’d started.

 

“The first drags always the worst.” Roger’s lips were parted and wet with, Brian noted with a sudden shock of fresh air to his lungs, his own saliva. 

 

Brian briefly reflected back on how very much he’d changed as a person, how he’d twisted and clawed himself into someone very far away from the boy watching his mother apply rouge and asking for some to be dabbled on his own round cheeks.

 

“Well, then,” Brain’s long fingers gripped Roger’s hips, holding him in place, he felt the other’s breath on his sharp cheekbone, “we should probably try again.”

 

Roger still took the precaution of pretense, not wanting to scare Brian off, wanting to have an excuse when all was said and done. He lifted the smoldering cigarette to his lips and then his lips to Brian’s. 

 

Brian begged time to slow, to bend the rules of the universe just for him, because he knew after this reality would crash down upon them. He’d have to act embarrassed instead of curiously delighted. Roger would have to laugh, playing it off as typical impulsive ladish behaviour instead of admitting he’d been waiting for the right moment to do this for weeks. It was the only way to maintain homeostasis. The only way to maintain the symbiotic relationship of friends, of flatmates, of bandmates. The stars and the planets and the burning comets all laughed at Brian as the clock continued to tick; the universe wouldn’t stop just for him. Just for them.

 

The sounds of the forgotten movie snaked into Brian’s ears, reminded him of reality, of the outside world. Of the kids who screamed fag at him in primary school.

 

His fingers, of their own accord, dug into Roger’s flesh as he pushed the blonde off him. He felt nauseous. Dirty. Sick. Freddie could be gay, or whatever it was he said he was, and Roger could sleep with whoever he wanted, and John could sleep with no one. It was good, all good. But not him. 

 

He dragged the back of his hand across his lips trying to remove the taste of Roger. The taste of cigarettes and cheap beer and a kindness he didn’t quite deserve.

 

To Roger’s credit he didn’t even look hurt; just like he was coming to a realization that had lurked in his mind for very long time. 

 

“Go smoke outside.”

 

“Okay.”

 

The blonde lingered at the doorway.

 

“Sorry for interrupting your film.” His eyes met Brian’s. They were resigned; Roger had given up.

 

“Don’t even consider it.” His inner shame and outer guilt at losing whatever it was he and Roger had pressed together. The pressure made his head throb.

 

“Hope you didn’t miss an important part.”

 

_ You’re more important than any film, or homework, or girl or galaxy,  _ Brian’s brain screamed.

 

“Nope.” He said aloud.

 

\---

Although Roger didn’t return until much later that evening, once John and Freddie had already returned, thoughts of him coated Brian’s head.

 

He could swear up and down he didn’t enjoy Roger’s lips on his, Roger in his lap, or gripping tightly at Roger’s hair but that wouldn’t stop his mind from insisting it was good. 

 

Maybe it was like the flu. Just something you had to get out of your system. 

 

“Candy floss.”

 

“Strawberries.”

 

“Honey.”

 

“Good one. Milky bars.”

 

“Ice lollies.”

 

Brian groaned as he slouched against the kitchen cabinets. It was hard to find a way to circumvent his sexuality crisis when Freddie and John had taken it upon themselves to rip into his new song.

 

“Can you two keep it down?”

 

“I don’t know, can you think of lyrics better than ‘sweet as cheese?’” Freddie and John dissolved into laughter as leaned against each other atop the countertop (at some point the two of them had deemed this appropriate seating). 

 

“Really? ‘Soup in the laundry bag’ and you want to talk about lyrics?” Despite himself a small smile wormed its way onto his face. Freddie and John’s easy company had a way of calming him.

 

“Well, I think your lyrics are great Brian.” The aforementioned raised his eyebrows at John’s proclamation. 

 

“Since when?” Freddie and Brian managed in a confused unison.

 

“Since,” John flipped his wrist, carefully examining his watch, “ you were the closest to the beer.”

 

“Bastard.” The guitarist passed another drink over to the younger boy.

 

The three continued their light hearted banter and heavy handed drinking until a click of the door shattered Brian’s temporary peace. His short term deviant avoidance no longer available he glanced up to see Roger looking worse for wear.

 

“I thought you were going to Cornwall?” Freddie ventured at the scotch scented drummer.

 

“Missed my train is all. So I went to the pub with a few mates.” He reached for a beer, his hand skimming past Brian’s back, making them both recoil from the touch.

 

Roger dropped his empty hand to his side.

 

“Brian said you were here?” John’s eyebrows furrowed together and Brian regretted not getting his and Roger’s story straight earlier.

 

“Right, yeah, I was for a bit. Then I went to the pub.” He kept his sunglasses firmly placed upon his face despite the waning light filtering in from the kitchen window.

 

“Here.” Brian offered the can to Roger hoping, praying, their fingers might touch. He just wanted to fell Roger’s skin one more time. Get it out of his system- that was what he needed to do.

 

“Cheers.” The blonde carefully plucked the beer from Brian; seeming to scientifically engineer the lack of contact.

 

“You two are acting strange.” Freddie jumped down from the counter and padded over to them, squinting, trying to dissect his bandmates’ brains from the outside.

 

“Look, we’re just-” Roger trailed off. God, he was a terrible liar.

 

“Nervous for the competition tomorrow.” Brian finished seamlessly. Well, not quite seamlessly, but Freddie seemed to drop it.

 

“Tell me about it.” John rolled his eyes and started mixing a vodka soda classic John style- 3 to 1 split. The 3 being vodka of course.

 

Brian felt a wave of guilt lap at his adrift conscience. The last gig had been a horrific group effort and they’d all crucified poor John for it. Despite the sunglasses he could tell by Roger’s wince he felt the same way.

 

Before either of them could so much as glance at each other in silent guilty agreement Freddie spoke.

 

“John we all over reacted that night,” he tucked a lock of black hair behind his ear, “and you’ve come so far! We all have.” 

 

Their bassist turned to face Freddie, true uncertainty dancing blatantly across his face.

 

“If I do  _ that _ again. If I run off, if it’s all too much for me, promise me one thing.” 

 

The three waited with held breath.

 

John downed his drink.

 

“Kick me out. You need a bass player who can perform properly. This band is going somewhere- with or without me.”

 

They didn’t even need to look at one another to know their answer.

 

Freddie spoke for the trio. “No.”

 

“What?”

 

“No. We’re Queen. You’re Queen. No John Deacon, no Queen.”

 

“What are you saying Freddie? Guys?” Their fluffy haired flatmate turned to Roger and Brian frantically, hoping they’d be on his side.

 

“I think he’s saying,” Roger started with a smirk.

 

“That you’d better kill it tomorrow.” Brian finished.

 

John, who’d been drowning in a sea of fear most of his life, left something new and strange bump against his chest. Faith. They had faith in him.

 

John swallowed hard and raised his glass.

 

“To Queen.”

 

Four glasses clinked together, alcohol spilling over the edges, then eventually, into their mouths.

 

Sometime later Freddie had managed to fanagle, what seemed to him, to be an intricate lie to extract himself from the flat, alone, without raising suspicion.

 

“I’ll be right back dears,” he set down his glass and flourished a red velvetine coat around his small frame, “I’ve just got to pop to the art supply store. They’re having a fantastic sale on acrylics.”

 

This would have been all fine and good if Freddie hadn’t been to the ‘art supply store’ four times in the last two weeks.

 

“Don’t you have enough paints Freddie?” John’s voice thinned out a painful amount on the word paints. 

 

“Let him be John.” Brian snapped at the younger boy. It wasn’t their job to parent Freddie afterall.

 

The younger boy’s eyes pleaded with the art student. Begged him to stay. 

 

“See you soon Deaky.” The door slammed shut. John downed his drink and poured another.

 

“So”, he called to Roger and Brian who had moved into the living area after Freddie left, “ which is it?”

 

“What?” Roger turned down the melodic sounds of Rod Stewart blaring from the engineering student’s homemade speakers and scrunched his nose.

 

Brian took a swig of beer to distract himself from the way the drummer’s eyes crinkled. He wondered if a collapsing star could be as bright? Probably not.

 

“Do you not care about your friend or are you both just idiotic? I’d believe either one so, please, go ahead.” He returned leaning against the doorway with an expression neither of them had seen before. John looked distraught. 

 

He looked so distraught, in fact, his question managed to cut through the haze of blonde, blue and silk in Brian’s mind.

 

“I know you’re young John, but you have to know, sometimes people have  _ habits  _ like that. It’s not effecting him day to day. Just lay off.”

 

“Yeah, Fred’s fine mate. It’s no worries.” Roger added helpfully.

 

“He’s going to buy drugs! You realize that right?” Brian’s stomach tightened at John’s broken tone.

 

“It’s all going to catch up one day. His pills. Your not eating.” It felt like someone had sucked the air from his lungs. He didn’t know John had noticed. “Your anger issues.” Roger opened his mouth to yell back but thought better of it. “My drinking.” He laughed but not an ounce of humour could be found in the room. 

 

“I’m going after him- like a  _ friend  _ would.” He lingered by the door.

 

Neither Roger nor Brian moved a muscle.

 

“It’s something he needs to sort out on his own John.” The guitarist tried logic one last time.

 

The door swung shut.

 

“Jesus.” Roger let go of the breath he was holding. “He’s a good guy but he needs to realize that’s not just a problem you can solve.”

 

Brian thought of the times Roger had thrown away his stash of razor blades whenever he’d ‘stumble’ across them. “Some problems can’t be solved,” he eyed the spot on the couch where their lips had met only hours ago, “or don’t want to be solved.” 

 

“Bri, we don’t have a problem, do we?” He looked over to find sunglass shielded eyes examining him.

 

“I’m sorry if I was  _ brisk  _ earlier. You just,” there were no words in the collective human language to describe what Roger had done to his mind, “surprised me.”

 

“I’m sorry too.” The blonde never specified for what but the deep sadness radiating from him spoke more than he ever could. It didn’t matter, of course, as Brian wasn’t listening. He was thinking. Just thinking one thing over and over and over again.

 

_ I just need to get it out of my system. _

 

_ I just need to get it out of my system. _

 

_ I just need to get it out of my system. _

 

“Can I tell you something Roger?”

 

The oxygen was ripped from the blonde’s lungs and his head set alight as a tiny spark of hope burrowed up from his heart.

 

“Of course. Anything.” The words coated his throat and clung to his tongue, coming out in a barely audible whisper.

 

“You look ridiculous in those sunglasses- it’s night time.” Roger let a laugh cover his disappointment as he pulled off the darkened frames.

 

“Guess you’re right; sometimes I’m a bit ridiculous.”

 

“One more thing. I- earlier- what we did.” Brian wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About that kiss.”

 

His heart was flying. So the curly haired man hadn’t just angrily dismissed it as Roger’s usual shenanigans. He’d felt it too. The heat, the familiarity of the unfamiliar action, the electricity. Those things, they’d followed Roger from the flat, into the pub, buzzed around his head like vultures. And here Brian was, telling him he felt the same way. 

 

He didn’t want to overwhelm the guitarist. He kept those thoughts to himself and acted on the other thought that had been following him around all day- how damn good it had felt.

 

“That wasn’t a kiss, not really.” He raised his eyebrows, daring Brian to accept. He felt like he couldn’t breath, like he had been dragged out to sea and now the waves were closing in.

 

“I’m quite sure it was.” Brian moved closer leaving the blonde stuck between him and the wall. “I can demonstrate, if you’d like?” Those honey eyes had crystallized and gone much darker; that gentlemanly tone of voice had broken and gone rough. 

 

He didn’t wait for Roger to answer. Couldn’t wait for Roger to answer. Not when he needed this so badly. So urgently. Not when he needed to cure himself of his obsession, to flush Roger from his system. If he didn’t do it now he was afraid his attraction might take permanent root deep within his lungs and snake along his veins to his heart. And he’d never be able to remove it then. Not without slicing out his own heart. No, he had to do it now, nip it in the bud before it flowered.

 

Soft, gentle, tentative. No, none of these, Brian didn’t kiss like Roger at all. It was teeth and pressure and desperation.

 

Brian almost swore as Roger pulled away. He was almost there. Had almost cured himself of his attraction, he was sure of it.

 

“Dont do this if you don’t mean it.” He looked pained as he spoke; as though he wished he could just give in to the kiss and think later. That’s what Brian wanted,  _ needed,  _ him to do.

 

_ I just need to get it out of my system. _

 

“I mean it.” 

 

He didn’t.

 

Brian kissed Roger again.

 

\---

 

The next 40 minutes they spent snogging on the couch, tangled in each other's limbs, taking sips from the opened gin bottle nearby, were some of the most riveting of Brian’s life. He knew Roger would be good at this sort of thing but he didn’t account for the way his tongue slid around his mouth or the vibration in his throat as he squirmed when Brian’s fingers dug into his sides. Roger was  _ fantastic  _ at this sort of thing. Going by Roger’s little groans and gasps at pulled hair and softly trailed fingers, he wasn’t half bad himself.

 

The problem was that those gentle touches and pleading eyes hadn’t eradicated Brian’s attraction to Roger; instead, they’d amplified it by a tenfold.

 

Eventually they’d broken apart, Brian reminding the blonde John and Freddie would be back soon and they needed to  _ settle down  _ before then. Roger suggested a few ways, then, to take care of the tightness in Brian’s trousers that made him strain further and turn a startling shade of red.

 

Roger was beaming.

 

Brian was overcome by guilt.

 

It rang in his ears and filled his nose, crawled in through his mouth and pulled at his skin. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to use his best friend like this. This was his punishment, he supposed. The constant images of Roger, thoughts of Roger, scent of Roger, dancing around him as cruel ghosts, knowing he couldn’t touch him again. He wasn’t gay after all. He wondered if the drummer would forgive him.

 

Probably not. He certainly wouldn’t forgive someone who toyed with his heart like that.

 

By the time John and Freddie returned Roger had curled up against Brian’s side while he leaned as far away as he could. 

 

The two men returning from the outdoors had no comment on their odd position though, as they were much preoccupied with their own problems.

 

Freddie bore the expression of a scolded child and from John’s pockets peered glinting silver blister packs.

 

“If you two are quite done go get some pillows.”

 

Freddie answered their confused expression with a huff. “Deaky is putting me on house arrest for the night because  _ he  _ thinks he’s in charge all of a sudden.”

 

Brian sprang up, taking the opportunity to get away from Roger and his intoxicating presence. He shuddered at the sudden coldness on his side.

 

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re the only responsible adult in the whole flat!” John snapped as he picked up the abandoned gin bottle.

 

When Brian and Roger returned from their room, arms full of pillows, the bassist was blacked out on the rug, bottle still in hand.

 

“Responsible adult my ass.” Freddie reached into the unconscious man’s pocket and snatched back the pills.

\---

Brian looked around from his spot on the living room floor and saw John still deeply immersed in an alcoholic haze curled up alone, Freddie tossing and turning, and Roger, well, Roger he felt. The blonde had laid down beside him, head on his chest, and in the dead of night wrecked with nerves for their gig and guilt for his actions he couldn’t help but place an arm around him. 

 

This would hurt tomorrow morning. 

\----

He walked quietly, careful to not disturb his friends as he rose; although, he did consider giving John a small kick. Freddie shook off the thought and entered his bedroom. The sight before him almost made him forget about the drugs, John’s anger, his pre show nerves, Roger and Brian’s odd behaviour-  _ almost.  _

 

A jumper clad man filled small dishes with kibble, and, when done with his task, leaned up against the alley wall facing Freddie’s window and lit up a cigarette. It was a familiar scene.

 

Every morning for the last month Jim had waited in the alley for Freddie to awaken and always called up to the art student. It was Freddie’s favourite part of the day. He was afraid, after the dinner party, that he’d stop. He’d asked Freddie to stop bringing down tea in the morning because he wouldn’t be there early anymore; he wanted to spend more time with Joe he’d said. It was well known that was code for my-boyfriend-is-very-mad-at-me-and-thinks-you’re-trying-to- shag-me. But sure enough, come dawn, Jim was always there smiling in the alley.

 

The man in question waved up to Freddie’s window. Freddie waved down. 

 

Well there went the best part of his day, all downhill from here. 

 

Sleep heavy fingers plucked an Earl Grey tea bag from a crystalline jar in the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea could soothe his aching soul.

 

Maybe today wouldn’t be all bad. He was unabashedly excited for the show. He should be cautious, careful, concerned after their first fiasco but he couldn’t find it in himself to think badly of them. To think badly of Queen. 

 

He sighed, his ears still ringing from John’s tirade last night. The other two let him have it, his one habit, they had much worse vices themselves, but John wouldn’t stand for it. He’d said if Freddie ever did anything to put himself in danger he’d kill him. Freddie pointed out this was fairly counter productive but John ignored him. More than ignored him. He’d ripped the packets from his hands and shoved them into his own jacket pockets and announced, like a father to a misbehaving child, that they were going home and this was the end of it. He’d then walked into a lampost as his blood probably had a higher alcohol content than some wine at that point. It had taken some of the gusto out of his actions.

 

Freddie wanted to be angry, he was a bit, but he knew John only did it because he cared. It was comforting really. Knowing that someone cared about his well being. He was quite sure he liked the feeling. 

 

Unfortunately he also like the feeling of uninhabited energy, sparkling creative thought dreams, and heightened adrenaline. So he’d taken back the pills.

 

He sipped quietly at his tea and thought about how proud his mother would be if they made it into the finals. He’d finally have something to show for all his fanciful imaginings. Burden layden eyes found his mobile phone unplugged on the table. Dead. Another time then.

 

Their set was chosen, well rehearsed, and showed off the best of their talents. If they could play half as good live as they had in practice Freddie knew they’d make it.

 

The competition didn’t start for hours yet and their slot was one of the last. 

 

Well, he’d best get them up.

\---

The screeching of curtain rods and a flourish of fabric announced the morning had risen, along with their dark haired bandmate to the rest of the flat. 

 

“Rise and shine dears!” 

 

Someone was awfully chipper. 

 

John groaned.

 

Roger threw a badly aimed pillow and knocked over a lamp.

 

When something terrible, quite guilt inducing or just generally  _ very bad  _ happened there’s a period between when you first wake up and when you remember. When you realize everything isn’t soft and sweet and there indeed is a reason for the knot in your stomach and your sweat drenched hairline. 

 

That one moment was an oasis. A fountain in a desert you could cling onto until it dried up.

 

Brian had no such luck. His eyes opened and so did the sea of regret that filled his very being. It was morning.

 

With no options left he spoke then, spoke the words that would tear away Roger’s happiness and warmth. The blonde looked up, bleary eyed, and smiled at him. Sleep still clogged his brain. He looked angelic.

 

Brian repeated himself.

 

“God, I don’t remember  _ anything  _ from last night.” he rubbed his head for effect and spared a glance at Roger.

 

Knowing someone was losing all faith in you, all belief, that was violently painful. But having to watch it? That was a vile cruelty few could survive.

 

The confusion crumpled face slowly transforming, realizing, that they had been betrayed, that they had worshipped false gods the entire time and that the bread was just bread and the wine was just wine. Then came the worst part, the fury, the steely face that promised never to trust again. 

 

Brian thought he might be sick and it had very little to do with the drink he had consumed last night. He felt as though his head had its own pulse. His hands shook and spots danced in front of his eyes.

 

“Hurry up you two, we have to practice one more time before the competition.” Lazy afternoon sunlight filtered in punctuating Freddie’s words as he walked to the kitchen.

 

“I guess it’s time to move on.” Roger turned himself upright and swayed into their bedroom without a single glance back.

 

He could hear the sound of John vomiting in the bathroom.

 

He could hear the crinkling of the aluminum foil being broken open by Freddie’s deft fingers.

 

He could hear the screeching of tape as, one by one, delicate glow stars were torn down from his ceiling by Roger’s shaking fingers. 

 

With that the sun rose on the most important day of Queen’s history to date.

\----

 


	11. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes,,, the chapter order is still fucked im sorry!!! use the index to move between chapters please :)  
> \---

There were points in a person’s life when things suddenly became abundantly clear. When the fog of indecision and uncertainty, of fear and faithlessness, cleared and revealed the truth. Iphis reveled in one of these moments as she gazed upon Ianthe. Joan of Arc as she announced herself preordained by powers greater than any mortal. Alan Turing as he typed the first code into Enigma. Freddie Mercury was having one of those moments right now.

 

Despite John’s alcohol addled insides, Roger’s ruse of calm poorly hiding his betrayal, Brian’s guilt gilded brain and nutrient drained body, and Freddie’s heart hammered into a few million pieces and patched back up with pills, they had it. They had _it._

 

Sounds that had no right existing on an earthly plane filled the record shop basement as the morning’s tensions dissolved.

 

They knew as soon as the last melodic notes of the bass rang out on their final practice session before the semi-final. They were in. They were Queen.

 

Their last practice session done; nothing stood in the way of tonight’s show.

 

Bodies and minds riddled with personal vendettas, broken hearts and other gut wrenching substances; it mattered not. Their sound was otherworldly in its delicacy and underworldly in its heaviness. Guitars sang and voices strummed. Angels cried and the devil smiled. Tulips grew from where they stood and the cosmos shifted closer just to hear them sing.

 

Well, not quite- but almost. Freddie had always fallen prey to fanciful imaginings. They were damn good though.

 

Too broke for tube tickets they walked back to the flat, an easy silence falling over them.

 

Roger resented it. How easily they could all fall in sync. Could share a single line of electricity between the four of them as they performed. How he would forgot for just one moment, watching Brian’s eyes light up at a joke or mouth fall open in wonder at his drum solo, that he had betrayed him. Hurt him. Cut him deeply and irrevocably. But more than all of it he hated that he would forgive Brian. He knew he would. Because above the heart strings tangled up in lies and unsurity there was an indisputable fact. Brian and Roger were friends. Above all and below nothing they were friends.

 

Friends who took lattes to garages in the seedy part of town so they could walk back home together. Friends who brought home bandages from the pharmacy late at night after a bad test grade got to be a little too much and the only answer a razor blade. Friends who were inches away from being everything to each other.  

 

Roger’s heart had been methodically dismantled by his prospective love Brian just that morning. Shortly after his best friend Brian had appeared with a fresh coffee and a smile that held the weight of the world. Their shared a wordless thesis on the matter that boiled down to three points.

 

Brian had hurt him.

 

Brian was sorry.

 

Roger would always be his friend.

 

This, of course, wasn’t to say there wasn’t a deep viscous pain that bubbled up from Roger’s chest every time Brian’s eyes caught his own. His smile was a bit cracked. His eyes a shade duller than usual. He didn’t feel himself the golden child others constantly proclaimed him to be. He didn’t shine quite as bright without Brian.

 

By the time they had started lavishing themselves in charity shop silks and discount silver eyeliner Freddie was his usual chatty self again. The awe inducing wonder of their sound apparently having worn off.

 

“John, I just don’t understand how you think that outfit looks anything other than hideous.” His beautifully arched eyebrows raising at John’s solo attempt at ‘glam’.

 

Even Brian had to admit the blue satin suit with no shirt underneath and heeled boots was a bit left field for the bassist who, like him, had initially been displeased with their onstage costuming a la Freddie and Roger.

 

“Mate, you look like Cher and ABBA had a love child.” Roger had the audacity to remark as he appeared from his room in illegally tight tiger striped trousers and a zebra print waistcoat.

 

“Jokes on you Debbie Harry, that’s the exact look I was going for. And Brian?”

 

“Hmmm?” The curly haired boy glanced over at John as he continued smearing silver eyeshadow on.

 

“You look like a galaxy threw up on you.”

 

“But like, a sexy galaxy that can play guitar.” Freddie added helpfully as John nodded enthusiastically.

 

As the discussion devolved into Brian insisting galaxies in and of themselves were not entities and as such couldn’t be considered sexy while Deaky and Freddie started listing ‘sexy planets’ (it could be noted this devolved even further after Freddie’s excited remark of: _Uranus!)_ , Roger subconsciously reached up and toyed with the star earrings adorning him. He’d thought about removed them a million different times. After Brian had hurt him in a million different ways but he hadn’t found it in himself to go through with it. He doubted he ever would.

 

The blonde lit a cigarette and let the smoke curl, quite purposely, in the direction of their curly haired guitarist. They were friends but, of course, that was not mutually exclusive to holding a grudge.

 

“Ready Freddie?” Trying to slip a set of drumsticks in his back pocket but, upon finding his trousers were unyieldingly tight, he chose to grasp them instead. He couldn’t help but feel Brian’s eyes on him the entire time.

 

“Hey! What about Brian and I? Do you care if we’re ready?” A mischievous glint danced in John’s eyes poorly hidden by a blase expression.

 

Roger couldn’t help but chuckle as he rolled his eyes.

 

“I’m not the one who named you two things that are hard to rhyme with!”

 

“Not my fault.”

 

“What? Want me to take it up with your mother? I’m sure I have her number around here _somewhere._ ” The drummer dramatically patted down his pockets.

 

John threw a tube of lipgloss at him.

\----

Herded behind a velvet curtain backstage with twenty other bands Freddie waited for the nerves to set in. They never came.

 

Roger’s hands were steady. Brian didn’t spare a glance to the other groups whispering about their outrageous outfits. John even stopped at three drinks.

 

Trying to spy a look out from the heavy velvet hangings as a different band played Freddie looked for a particular Irishman.

 

They were still friendly but things had cooled off. Slowly at first, like steam rising from a cup of tea, but then faster and harshly as Jim stopped talking to him. He still waved up in the mornings from the alley behind the flower shop but no words parted their lips.

 

Freddie’s texts to him sat unanswered.

 

_How’s Delilah doing? Haven’t seen either of you in while? ;)_

 

_Some of my pieces are part of an art exhibit at the College tomorrow night if you’re interested? Tell Joe not to worry- my friends Peter and Mary will be there as well._

 

_Hope you’re having a good day today._

 

_We’ve made it into the semi-finals. The 13th at 10pm in the old university concert hall. Will I see you there?_

 

Nothing.

 

He logically knew why Jim was distancing himself. Something great and stronger than either of them seemed to pull the two men together. Something that muddled their minds and usurped their free rational thoughts. Jim was a good man and didn’t want to cheat on Joe. Freddie was a good man and didn’t want to disrespect Jim.

 

Yet.

 

A small part of him wanted Jim to show up anyway. To find him backstage after the show and press him up against the wall and-

 

“We’re up Fred.” Brian’s kind eyes broke him away from ever darkening thoughts.

 

The announcer’s voice reverberated throughout the hall.

 

“We have a fresh young band here! Never competed before.” Some snickers followed that. The quartet didn’t mind though- they’d show them soon enough. “John Deacon, Brian May, Freddie Mercury and Roger Taylor are Queen!”

 

Their confidence coronated them kings as they strode out onto the stage. They walked with the swagger of dukes and the opulence of Marie Antoinette. Stage lights that used to burn into John’s flesh now reflected off his giddy eyes. Uncertainty that once clung to Brian’s limbs had been flushed from his system by grace and pride. Rage that previously snuck into Roger’s hands through throbbing veins as he beat out notes was overtaken by glee. Freddie, well, he had always been their constant. Their north star and guiding hand. His flourish and showmanship, his captivating energy and siren like calls, were now matched by a well controlled voice and confident smirk.

 

Blinded by the roaring crowd and deafened by the flashing lights their set was met with wonder and awe.

 

Something new didn’t fall from the skies very often. Band competitions were fun didies to try and validate broken dreams but were held together with the same melodies and crashes and strums year after year. They weren’t the place for imagination. For genius. For raw, unbridled talent.

 

This new, wild, electric thing ran loose among the crowd. They all felt it- the spark of true, one off, talent. The average person barely lived to see it once in their lifetime. One of the people who saw it that night was Mr. John Reid of EMI and Elektra Records. He suddenly had quite high hopes for the later dated final of this competition. No more sludge of screamed lyrics and badly placed guitar solos. The grime had cleared and it was replaced with a golden crown.

 

The quartet felt they were floating millions of miles up in space. Weightless beings filled with joy. Every move was perfect. From Freddie leaning into John during Liar to Brian’s smirking solo in front of Roger’s drum kit. It wasn’t perfect because it was perfect- no, that wouldn’t make any sense. There were missteps over microphone cords and a missed lyric or two. It was perfect because they had them, _the crowd_ , they fought with sweet melodies and heavy harmonies and won over the mass of screaming people in front of them. They were perfect to their audience and that was all they ever cared about. None of them paid any mind to the university paper’s article on them the next day calling them ‘pompous’ and ‘overly indulgent’.

 

They were there for the people who found wonder and happiness in the lyrics of Seaside Rendezvous and My Fairy King not for the middle aged bigots who hated their dress sense.

 

By the time Queen exited the stage the crowd was begging for more and the announcer’s tone no longer cut a sarcastic note.

 

The four of them huddled together backstage; the glares of every other band upon them. It felt like Medusa herself was staring them down. They were now the band to beat. The competition. The golden standard. The joke dressed up in lycra and eyeliner they no longer were.

 

None of them cared; they were electrified and everyone they touched became infected with awe and glee.

 

Roger, sweaty chest heaving as he tried to catch a breath, was the first to speak.

 

“We were- Jesus- we were great!” Jittery with adrenaline he couldn’t light his cigarette but found he didn’t mind. The post show pleasure seemed to fend off tangible cravings. Upon second thought, he wouldn’t mind a shag though. His eyes shifted guilty to Brian who was smiling widely, beautifully, freely. He’d make some girl very happy one day.

 

“Great? Don’t sell us short dear.” Freddie smiled his proper toothy smile, not bothering to cover it up. The art student wasn't surprised, he knew it after their practice session- hell, he knew it the second he walked into the flat months ago. They were special.

 

“They loved us.” Brian’s words barely ghosted from his mouth. He found himself unable to process the high of a crowd chanting their name. Of seeing faces turn from boredom to interest to _worship._ It was in that moment he knew he’d be chasing that high for the rest of his living days.

 

“I even stayed for the whole set this time.” John announced picking up a new drink.

 

The sudden juxtaposition of their first gig in comparison made the four break out in laughter. Everyone else backstage surely thought they were mad by this point.

 

“Someone here to see Freddie Mercury?” The brash voice of a security officer rang out interrupting them.

 

The vocalist’s mind became a jumble. _Jim._ He had come. Had he broken up with his boyfriend? Was he coming to tell Freddie that? Did he want them to be together? Freddie strode away from the other three with a guarantee he would be back later and tried his best to fluff up his sweat drenched hair.

 

He expected to be dissapointed, turning the corner and not seeing Jim, but instead his heart swelled.

 

Thin arms wrapped tightly around him as a familiar scent filled his nose- _home._ His sister hugged him tightly and murmured _I miss you._ He never figured out if the tears on his blouse were his or Kash’s.

 

It had been months since he’s seen any member of his family. His father ordered him out and he went. But he went with a promise of never coming back. If they didn’t want him, all of him, then they couldn’t have any part of him. He remembered Kash’s face contorted in sobs as he slammed the door and their father screamed.

 

Seconds or years later, neither was able to tell, they broke apart.

 

He hadn’t realized how very much he’d missed his younger sister until she appeared.

 

“Far- Freddie you were amazing!”

 

“ _You’re_ amazing! How did you even know I was here?” He hadn’t told his family anything about his musical aspirations.

 

“I’m your sister,” she hit him lightly upside the head, “I know you. I knew you’d be here- didn’t expect to see you performing though!” She let out with a breathless laugh.

 

He caught John’s questioning eye as he walked past. They were announcing the bands moving on to the finals.

 

“Look, I- I have to go. But I’ll text you okay? We can go get chai and I’ll catch you up. I promise.” He squeezed her shoulder feeling guilty.

 

“You’d better. Otherwise I’ll have to give my number to your blonde friend over there who keeps staring at me.”

 

He turned to cut a scathing look to Roger.

 

“I would be physically sick.”

 

One more slightly tearful hug later and he returned to the group.

 

“Who was-”

 

“Don’t even try it.” He cut off Roger.

 

“Look, they might not read off our names first, lots of the bands were great. So let’s not lose hope if-” Brian’s sensible instructions were cut off by the announcer.

 

“Three bands in for the final ladies and gentlemen-”

 

“And others.” Roger huffed under his breath.

 

“Remember to get your tickets as they’re selling out quickly-”

 

“God hurry up!” Freddie groaned.

 

He linked his hand with John’s as he noticed him fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

 

“The first band going through to the finals: Queen-”

 

An eruption of cheers left the audience as Freddie, smirking, led them on stage to wait for the other two bands to be announced. Too lost in their own world they never heard the other band’s names. Light shone down upon their heads like a hole had been slashed open in the heavens and a sea of adoring faces looked up from their feet.

 

Brian finally felt it then, the heavy curtain of indecision and pessimism being dragged off his mind. He could make a life out of this. _They_ could make a life out of this.

 

John’s mind was buzzing, but for once it wasn’t because of his drinks. He was part of something; something much greater than himself or anyone else.

 

Roger’s brain was clogged with a beautiful vindication. The years of being told he wasn’t good enough fell to his feet in ashes.

 

Freddie’s mood could only be described one way- satisfied. Queen was a self fulfilling prophecy. He had never doubted them; now no one else would either. No one else could.

 

An after party was held in the hall one building over and it became quite evident the record company hosting the event had money to burn. Vast swaths of drinks overtook long banquet tables and the massive speakers shook the crystalline chandeliers. Freddie felt more at home than he ever had. Their eyes filled with images of future riches and present fun.

 

The rest of the evening passed in what could only be described as a _haze._

 

Drinks. Pills. Cigarettes. Sex. More drinks.

 

Freddie quickly drowned the guilt fogging his mind with another pink tablet as a man who bore more than a passing resemblance to Jim pressed his lips against his own. He had long ago lost track of John. He figured he was fine though.

 

It was somewhere around the bottle of vodka, or maybe it was the bottle of whiskey, that John had passed out in a corner. Between the flashing lights and addled minds no one paid his small form any attention. Which was all he had wanted all night. For people to just _stop._ He liked the lights on stage and the congratulations of his band mates. But here? It was too much. Person after person approached him. Girls grabbed at his arm and leaned in far too close to his face. The only way to make it bearable was to down any liquid within his reach.

 

A few girls kissed him and he told them to stop- they didn’t. He felt nauseous. Secret relief flooded his mind as he felt himself blacking out. He knew it was a problem- ending every night like this. But everyone had vices and his were no worse than his flatmates. Doing well in a band competition wasn’t the way to fix bad habits molded by time and trauma. At least they had eachother now. They all felt too much and would do anything for a  little relief. They just got relief in different ways.

 

As the Jim look alike took Freddie’s hand and suggested they go back to his place Freddie scanned the dark hall for his friends.

 

A flash of golden hair was briefly illuminated by yellow lights. There was a girl on either side of Roger and, if Freddie’s eyesight hadn’t betrayed him, one currently had her hand down his pants. _Lovely._

 

After he lost count of the number of pints he’d consumed Roger had come up with a plan he’d thought to be rather smart. He’d left the girls next to him and stumbled over to Brian with the intention of, well he wasn’t sure of his intentions quite yet. But he knew they most certainly involved Brian.

 

“Bri! Hey Bri!”

 

The curly haired man turned to see a swaying drummer looking up at him with innocent eyes. Guilt flashed deep in his stomach. The type of guilt that alcohol couldn't fix.

 

“Look, I know it’s weird between us right now and don’t think I’m not pissed at you but, we did a good job tonight. _You_ did a good job. I just wanted to say so.”

 

It may be practical to note that due to the amount of drink Roger had consumed he had yelled all of this into Brian’s ear while clutching onto his arm.

 

That was what broke Brian, in the end, Roger’s kindness. Despite the fact he had knowingly fucked with his friend’s feelings for his own gain Roger still, even off his tits drunk, wanted to come over and tell him he had done well.

 

A force beyond either of them, namely the vodka Brian had consumed, lead him to put his hands on Roger’s waist to steady him.

 

“Please don’t do that Roger. Don’t be so nice to me. I was- I was awful to you and I feel disgusting about what I did-”

 

“Which part?” Roger suddenly very close to him. It was too dark to see properly but he could feel the bass beat of the music reverberating through the blonde’s body pushed up against his own. He could see lights reflecting off blue eyes. “Were you disgusted by me?”

 

“No! By what I did to you. I mean kissing you that was- it felt good.” He knew he shouldn't have added the last part. It was dangerous. But he felt dangerous. The adrenaline and alcohol and attention had screwed up his brain. Had cut out all the rational logic parts and left him with stars in his head and moonlight in his veins.

 

Something sad and small seemed to click behind Roger’s eyes then. An understanding of what Brian wanted but would never allow himself. He knew he had to stop. He couldn’t keep letting Brian pull him in from sea when he was the one who pushed Roger overboard each time.

 

“I know you’re going to break me, again, so let’s make tonight goodbye. We’re still friends, Bri, no matter what. But just to end it all, proper like, let’s say goodbye to whatever we almost were? I can’t do this every time you’re drunk.” Roger was oddly eloquent for a man several drinks into his night. Or maybe what he was saying wasn’t eloquent at all and his angelic beauty just made it seem that way. His eyes were steady and sure; Brian knew exactly what he was asking.

 

This was the last time.

 

He happily obliged.

 

He couldn’t find it in himself to care that they were in the middle of a crowded room. His lips met Rogers and blonde hair fell against his face. He felt like he was in another galaxy; one where time dripped by like molasses and whiskey coated mouths tasted like honey.

 

The kiss was wildly desperate. This was the last time. He had to push every fibre of his being, every emotion, every stray look and passionate thought into it. He wanted, no _needed,_ Roger to know he was genuine. He couldn’t stay in this strange land where these emotions bloomed, but they were _real_. They were true. So he said so with his lips and his tongue and his hands.

 

Freddie, or course, was oblivious to his friends' strangely contorted friendship.

 

Five minutes later the next burst of light from their techno settings showed an unmistakable head of curls. Freddie raised an eyebrow at the petite blonde woman glued to the guitarist’s face. Huh, he’d never thought Brian bold enough to grope a girl’s ass in public. Good for him.

 

Still no John. The Jim look alike tugged on his hand. He was sure John would be okay.

 

The art student later found out the man’s name was David and he was really quite sweet. A good shag as well, if he were being honest. He even held back Freddie’s hair for him as he vomited into the toilet. Perhaps he had one drink too many.

 

David offered to let him stay the night and more than anything he wanted to say yes. He wanted to be held and loved, but, an awful gnawing thought was eating away at his conscious.

 

He was sure John would’ve said goodbye to him if he had gone back to the flat yet he was nowhere to be seen at the party. It unsettled Freddie initially. Then it upset him. But now it absolutely unnerved him.

 

God he wanted to stay here with David.

 

The vocalist apologized and left.

 

330am and the party hadn’t slowed a beat since he had left. Elton John’s Saturday Night’s Alright snaked into his head at deafening volumes and a smoky haze worked its way up his nostrils as he entered the hall.

 

While the primary mission was to find John he was rather sure a drink or two would help him accomplish the goal much faster. He eyed the Moet & Chandon on the tables; the name sounded almost poetic. He could probably write quite a nice song with that. Humming the music only he could hear the dark haired boy began his search.

 

Although there was no sign of John yet he had found something rather suspicious. The two girls who had been having their way with Roger earlier were talking to a different man- Roger nowhere to be seen. It was quite unlike Roger to leave an opportunity like that.

 

After what felt like hours to the inhibited workings of Freddie’s mind but was really closer to fifteen minutes he worked through the crowd to taste the fresh air outside of the back exit. Maybe John would be there. The fresh air was predictably a marijuana haze.

 

Outlined by the lit up smoke there were three figures sat on the steps.

 

His heart finally broke free of its icy fear seeing John safely leaning on Roger who seemed to be staring quite guiltily at a purplish mark on Brian’s collarbone.

 

“Sorry was there a band meeting I wasn’t invited to?” Freddie had meant to sound scathing as he sat down next to friends but ended up giggling part way through. It had been a very good night after all.

 

“John here was having a little nap when we found him.” Brian laughed letting his hand settle on Roger’s leg.

 

“Found me? You basically fell on top of me!” John’s glare had no venom behind it. If anything, he looked rather pleased.

 

“We were just looking for somewhere to sit!” Roger protested. He looked Brian in the eye as he pushed the older boy’s hand off his thigh. A silent understanding drifted between the two. That was that then.

 

“Right.”

 

The four sat in silence for a while.

 

“Freddie?”

 

He looked over at Brian, seeing John and Roger had drifted off.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“We’re going to make it- Queen. We really are.”

 

A smile threatened to split open his face. “I know.”

 

Brian strained to look up at the stars. He settled for gazing at Roger’s earrings as the sky was covered by a heavy haze. He quietly lamented the loss of whatever him and Roger had. It was for the best though- in the long run.

 

“What do you say we wake up the rhythm section here and go for a chippy?” Freddie pulled him out of his musings.

 

“Only if you wake up John. I disturbed his nap once and now I think he’s started writing a diss-track about me.”

 

Arms linked, drunk and happy and stumbling along the familiar grimy streets of London the quartet was plagued by an electric haze of something they hadn’t felt in a long time- contentment. Because beneath the shifting seas of emotions and drugs and razor blades there was a solid foundation now. Something they could all grab a hold of when times got tough.

 

They had each other.

\---

 

I am literally begging you all to comment :))))))

 


	12. Ten

“John.”

 

Click. Click.

 

“ _ John.” _

 

Click. Click.

 

“ **_John!”_ **

 

Click. Click.

 

“ **_JOHN!”_ **

 

Click. Cl-

 

Rolling his eyes as the radio’s volume maxed out John realized he would have to talk to his flatmate who was currently holding two cups of tea and looking awfully annoyed by the doorway of the sunroom.

 

John swore Brian’s hair grew bigger the more agitated he was and right now it looked like a poodle had developed opposable thumbs and, with this new skill, immediately stuck a fork into a light socket.

 

Despite their easy slip into the finals they’d kept a militant practice schedule. There was no way any of them could face losing now. After seeing the electricity in the air and worship in people’s eyes as they played. After being lavished with post show drinks and being blinded by sparkling chandeliers. They’d had one hit and now they were all terribly addicted. They just couldn’t bare to do anything but succeed.

 

Constant practices, lack of sleep, the addition of certain noxious substances and the looming threat of exams was enough to throw any sane person off their axis. And these were most certainly not four sane people. Funnily enough the problem that was currently causing Brian to stew and John to fume was one in the same and none of the above. It was a particular blonde drummer. A  _ very  _ particular blonde drummer. So particular, in fact, you might say it was one specifically. The one specifically, of course, being Mr. Roger Meddows Taylor.

 

Although they shared a stressor the mechanism in which the terrible strain that was being shoved into their brains and down their throats was very much different. Brian was wrecked by guilt and uncertainty. By lust and longing. By regret and mistrust. His heart and head were fighting a long and bloody war and the casualty was Roger. John, on the other hand, was an observer. He noticed things, because he was quiet his friends said, really he just noticed things because he seemed the only one among them able to look past his own ego for more than twenty minutes at a time. Twenty minutes also happened to be the runtime of the B side of ABBA’s 1979 smash record Voulez-Vous. John figured these two facts were unrelated (probably). As John was such a studious observer he’s seen quite quickly the pining and cruelty and love Brian and Roger had been spitting at eachother since he’d first moved in. Initially he’d been able to put up with it but now,  _ jesus,  _ but now it was getting unbearable. He hadn’t a single clue how Freddie didn’t notice. The tension between them was palpable. John had to leave the room as they tried to arrange a time to go see a film together; it had taken over twenty minutes (he knew because the dulcet tones of ABBA had stopped and his flatmates remained) for them to plan it, both so scared of this new friendship they’d decided to settle into. 

 

They’d settled into it in a fine fashion. Of course, it is pertinent to note the definition of fine here means delicate, thin, breakable, it does not mean, pleasing, very well or contently. They were steady and hard on the  _ idea  _ of being friends. This was the only stability. They were overly polite to eachother; the usual banter evaporated into the dry air around them. They constantly tried to set one another up on dates trying to prove how very  _ over  _ eachother they were. They made sure to invite Freddie and John wherever they went, so afraid of being alone together. Afraid of what they might do, what they might say, what might pass between them unspoken and intangible. But now there was no Roger, who was in Cornwall visiting his sister and Mum, and there was no Freddie, out for chai with his sister. It was just the frizzy haired string instrument playing duo. John figured Brian would be rather annoyed being referred to as such so he stuck the phrase away in his mind for when Brian was annoying him. Although, perhaps Brian had more reason to be annoyed with him as he still hadn’t answered. From Brian’s perspective he had been staring at the rug unmoving for 3 minutes and 25 seconds. The runtime of ABBA’s 1979 smash hit As Good As New from their 1979 smash album Voulez-Vous.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I thought you might like a cup of tea.” Brian set down the cut gingerly next to him careful not to let it clatter against the ceramic coaster. He didn’t want to startle John when he already seemed only halfway rooted in reality. He got like that a lot. Retreated into his own mind. In all fairness Brian was rather guilty of the same thing. Perhaps that’s why they’d never clicked like the others; much preferring their own company to one another’s. 

 

But Brian had broken down. Guilt chewed on his flesh every night; he was starting to worry he’d be stripped down to the bone within days. He needed help. He needed help from someone sensible. He was quite sure the only sensible person in all of London was John Deacon. Poor kid. 

 

“What are you up to?” Cords and wires twisted around John like snakes and torn apart prehistoric electronics towered above his crosslegged form like beasts.

 

“Thought if I got started now I might be able to launch the first man made object into space.”

 

“I think the Russians might have gotten you on that by half a century or so.”

 

“Tragic. Guess I’ll just have to build some amps instead.”

 

“They supply amps at the competition.”

 

John didn’t stoop to the level of dignifying the ‘amps’ with a verbalized answer and instead scoffed as Queen Victoria might’ve at an aluminium tiara. 

 

“Fine- they weren’t the  _ best  _ but-”

 

“You  _ need  _ the best Brian.  _ We need _ the best if we’re going to make it.” 

 

John’s investment in the band, in him, was oddly touching. He knew he cared deeply about Queen but he’d never thought John saw him as anything other than a coworker of sorts. Yet, here he was, in a graveyard of dumpster electronics and strewn about tools forcing together fried parts into something terribly kind. 

 

“That’s very nice of you.”

 

“I know.”

 

Silence mummified the room.

 

Brian let his eyes focus on his tea as he finally spoke the thoughts nagging on his mind. Might as well go all in. 

 

“Roger and I, sometimes we, uh, when we’re drinking, not that I don’t want to when we’re not drunk, just that alcohol loosens up your mind and lets things out that were trapped, makes it easier. Anyways Roger and I, we-”

 

“Snog and grope eachother like two preteens in a park on Valentine’s day? Yeah, I’ve cracked the code on that one no need to call in Mr. Holmes.” 

 

Putting down his tea Brian found he was suddenly much too warm to be drinking the usually comforting liquid.

 

“That’s a way to put it I suppose. Does, uh, does Freddie know?”

 

“Freddie’s either high or thinking about Jim or high and thinking about Jim. I think your secret is safe.”

 

“Well thanks, I guess, for keeping it to yourself. I’m just a bit thrown off by him.”  _ Too put it mildly  _ Brian chastised himself. Everything about that blonde had decimated his neatly organized little world. Had set it alight and smiled through the flames.

 

One thing John did not particularly enjoy was drawn out emotional conversations that required a certain tack and delicacy he long ago chose not to possess. Just because he was quiet didn’t make him everyone’s therapist. The problem was what John enjoyed far less than even that was seeing his friend in ruins. He knew this was eating away at Brian and there wasn’t much of him left. 

 

“I don’t act like it all the time but you’re my friend Brian. You don’t have to sugar coat this. Tell me.”

 

“Tell you what?” Brian looked so terribly desperate as he finally met John’s gaze; groggy afternoon light bounced off the sheen on his eyes. The pressure of his emotions, of his wailing sadness and screaming loneliness, had been building for far too long. He felt he might explode if he didn’t talk to someone soon.

 

“Everything.”

 

“It’s simple really. Unbelievably, idiotically simple. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted and nothing I’ve ever had. I want him more than anything and the only thing in my way is myself. I feel like I’m going slightly mad.”

 

“If you feel that way you have to do something about it. And you have to mean it. You can’t just commodify Roger at your own leisure. He’s not your character development Bri.” 

 

John’s face softened at the deeply drawn lines of guilt that made a maze over Brian’s body. From the straight slashes across his forearms to the wrinkle between his brows to the edges of his ribs visible through his tight shirt.

 

“But I get it. It’s never easy- coming to terms with yourself. Hell, I’m still not completely sure what or who I like and don’t like. I know you’re never going to go to the LGBT meetings with Roger, Freddie and me. Being visible isn’t important to everyone; sometimes all that matters is that you know who you are. You like Roger; that’s great. You don’t have to call yourself anything because or it or maybe you want to. It doesn’t matter. What matters is not feeling disgusted by yourself anymore.”

 

Brian’s mind was reeling, trying to calculate, trying to understand how John had seemed to reach into his brain and pluck from it his darkest thoughts. His constant revolt at his own urges. Everytime he caught himself fantasising about Roger he’s go to the bathroom and force himself to be sick.

 

“You felt disgusted with yourself too?”

 

“Of course I did. Everyone at school was making out or having sex or pairing off in some way. And I was all alone. I never had any close friends. This time last year I was ready to-”, the bassist cut himself off looking at the fresh bandages on Brian’s wrists. “You get the picture. Now I’ve never been happier. It hard work but figuring out who you are is worth it. It always is, if you’re ready?”

 

“I’m not on stable ground with this, any of this, except Roger. I know how I feel about him. I think I need to tell Roger that I want to seriously try for something,  _ anything,  _ with him. I can’t take it anymore, being without him. It’s just cruel.” The taller man wanted to be sick at his own revelation- still some work to do. But later. He had to let Roger know.

 

“Be honest with me. Could you do it? Walk down the street holding his hand? Call him your boyfriend? Share a dessert at a restaurant? Because I don’t think the band could take another emotional Battle Royale between you two.”

 

“For him? I could do anything.” Brian was mostly sure that was true. At least he hoped it was.

 

“John?”

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“I don’t deserve you as a friend. I’m not sure any of us do. You’re kind and thoughtful and notice everything about everyone and I don’t even think I know your middle name.”

 

“John Richard Deacon.”

 

“Got it Deaky.”

 

“I’m going to kill you with my screwdriver as soon as I find it.”

 

“Pretty sure you can’t reach me when I’m standing up. I could find you a step ladder? Or maybe one of those little stools kids stand on when they’re trying to help their parents with the washing up?”

 

“Do you think Roger would want to borrow it so he can reach you when you snog? Or is he at a perfect height to give you a-”

 

“I dare you to finish that sentence Deacon.”

 

John locked eyes with him. “Blowjob.”

 

Dissolving into laughter Brian hadn’t felt this light in ages. He basically floated to the kitchen to get them both a beer. God knows they needed it.

 

\---

 

John was left a hour ago (three runs through of the B side of ABBA’s 1979 smash record Voulez-Vous) for his shift at the record shop. Roger was due back from Cornwall any moment and Brian wasn’t sure if he could take another moment of waiting.

 

He willed the blonde to materialize thinking of all the times he’d seen him in that doorway before. Cigarette between pouting lips and arms stacked with boxes. Sunglasses hiding broken eyes and a sad smile. Blood streaked hair and torn up clothing. Covered in glitter and laughing.

 

And now this time. Nose pink from the October cold and tin of baking from Ms.Taylor balancing precariously under his arm. 

 

Brian had the whole thing planned out.

 

Tea.

 

Sit.

 

Talk.

 

They greeted eachother. Roger was careful to avoid physical contact with him. It seemed so silly now Brian mused. That they had played at this. Played friends when they were clearly meant for more.

 

They made tea. Roger promising epic tales of his travels to his hometown. In reality he had barely been gone seven hours and a seagull stole one of his chips. All quite epic when retold by Roger though.

 

They sat. The sofa that once saw them lip to lip seemed to now mock their distance. A full cushion between them.

 

Ah, now the talking part. 

 

Eyes filled with sand Brian felt his throat convulse at its own dryness as he turned to Roger. He hadn’t felt this nervous in ages.  Despite the pounding that echoed down every corridor of his brain and the sea of nausea on which his stomach swam an undeniable happiness settled around him. He could finally do it. Give Roger what he deserved. Give Roger the truth. Maybe even give Roger love, if he’d take it.

 

Without a single reserve the cautious man began his reckless love laced speech.

 

“I need to be honest with you,” Roger flinched at the very notion of Brian’s words, “I don’t like this. I don’t like how we can barely be in the same room. How every word I say is carefully vetted and sewn into a sentence. I know I’ve hurt you but-”

 

“God me too. I thought maybe I was going mental.” A small laugh bubbled up from Roger’s lips. “All I want is for our friendship to be how it used to. All happy and free.” In the pause between Roger’s words, in that small silence, that’s when Brian felt he may possibly die. “I’d do anything for our friendship.”

 

A critical hit, that was.

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship. 

 

Friendship.

 

Friendship.

 

Such a funny word, isn’t it? Friendship. It was all encompassing light. Warmth. Care. Compassion. Kindness. That’s why it was so extraordinarily hilarious that something so lovely and divine had stabbed Brian right through the heart. Had ripped out his lungs. Had trampled his brain. 

 

In a way he knew he deserved this. It was his punishment for being so very cruel to Roger. For using the other man as his emotional battleground. It wasn’t fair but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Roger didn’t want him. Not like  _ that. _

 

He wanted a furnace not a forest fire. A comet not a galaxy. A pond not an ocean.

 

But Roger had told already told him. For all his books and studying how could he be so idiotic. Roger already told him.  _ Goodbye.  _ That’s what he said the night of the semi finals. He’d even meant it too, apparently. He’d toyed with the drummer too much. But now he meant it! Really meant it!

 

He thought about what John had said. Maybe he should’ve listened a bit closer. It wasn’t Roger’s job to fix him, to make him happy, he was his own person after all.

 

He briefly wondered if he’d ever look at someone else the way he looked at Roger.

 

Roger was relieved. His best friendship had been resurrected from the dead. Sure, he had wanted more, probably always would want more. Who wouldn’t want to be as close as possible to a man made out of moonbeams and stardust? To gaze upon his glowing skin and run their hands through silken curls? To bite at perfect lips and stroke at other bits? But Brian didn’t, and he had to respect that. He had tried to work around it, to corrupt that respect, and he had gotten his heart ripped out. So friendship? Yes, he was quite happy to take Brian in any form he’d allow.

 

“Want to grab some food then? There’s a new Turkish place around the corner. I swear you only eat if I make you.” The blonde poked him playfully in the ribs. It was then Brian acted against every single one of his instincts.

 

He settled for friendship. He settled because Roger was more than a character in his story. He’d hurt Roger and Roger had made it clear nothing was going to happen between them- not anymore. He wasn’t there for Brian to hack into pieces and then cry over because he wasn’t whole.

 

He smiled and a cold pain encompassed his head. 

 

“Shove off Debbie Harry”, a kindly extended hand to help up Roger, “let’s go.” Fire burnt up his arm and joined the raging flames of sadness that were seated deeply in his gut.

 

This was going to hurt.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally beg you to comment,,,, <3  
> The long awaited halloween chapter is next up!!!  
> I hope this was alright! I wrote this while eating hummus and drinking cider so uh,,,,


	13. Eleven

The Halloween chapter is FINALLY here,

 

If you want a better idea of their costumes pls google and look at the images for: marc bolan skateboard (its that outfit), Freddie Mercury crown magic tour, and I mean, yall know what Rogerina looks like,.... (PS idk what they call them in your countries but when i say bunches i mean those two little pony tail things? Apparently in america they’re called pig tails? Just uh,, the Rogerina hair mmk)

 

Look,,, I know this chapter is over 8000 words, I have nothing to say for myself at this point....

 

\---

 

Brian felt giddy with vindication and the small simmerings of revenge as he surveyed himself in the mirror. Roger had been poking fun at him all day for dressing up as Marc Bolan for their Halloween Party, as Roger had pointed out, it was just the tiniest bit big headed, maybe even egotistical, perhaps just a sliver self absorbed to come dressed as someone you look terribly alike to. It did not help Brian’s poor, pining, pulverized heart as the blonde then followed him around for an hour singing T. Rex songs (the line “We'll bop over the galaxies/We'll stroll over to Mars/We'll romance on Jupiter/Make love among the stars” seemed particularly cruel). He hoped Roger’s teasing would fall flat and fade away upon tides of desire and devotion when he saw him. Brian was shattered. Split in two, three, one hundred pieces; but it didn’t matter. He’d said as much to John  _ he couldn’t bare to be without Roger any longer.  _ Perhaps Roger’s rejection was the punishment he deserved but Brian was ready to tear a lot more from the cold, dead hands of the cruel universe. 

 

Brian wasn’t stupendously seductive or supremely sly or singularly suggestive but he was intelligent and ludicrously lovestruck. Not that it took a genius to see the combination of alcohol, loud music and tight clothes presented a beautifully packaged opportunity to win over Roger. And beautifully packaged Brian was. Buttoned dangerously low and exceedingly tight was a pink chiffon shirt with scandalously fitting peach satin trousers. He had painstakingly separated and twirled every curl in his hair. Not that he thought Roger would notice that when other physicalities of his form were much more  _ accentuated  _ but dressing up as Bolan was no joke to Brian. His ego would simply never recover should anyone think Marc’s hair had more luster or bounce than his.

 

The finishing touch, the trademark a la Marc that made him recognizable, was the gold glitter under his eyes in two triangles arranged so perfectly one might think a protractor was used. Brian lamented John’s temper when the boy would eventually pull out a glittery mathematics tool in the middle of class. In a way, he was sure that is what Pythagoras would’ve wanted.

 

A smile cracked Brian’s cool facade as he brushed by the exact blonde he was trying to impress while exiting the bedroom. Brian silently thanked the universe for Roger’s sudden appearance as though it were a preordained destiny rather than simple probability as they did, indeed, share a bedroom. 

 

Lined up with several more jabs regarding Brian’s ego and his Bolan costume Roger found himself infuriatingly transfixed. He had made such an effort. Such a painful fucking effort to be mates, and  _ just,  _ mates with Brian. So here they stood, face to face, in their doorway as Roger mentally writhed in pain. His heart was battered so and his brain was screaming no. Brian’s hair was made of curled silken floss, golden stars had fallen upon his cheeks (there was no doubt in Roger’s mind the lovely glowing things had simply killed themselves after seeing Brian’s beauty and knowing they couldn’t compete had then fallen, quite poetically, to the aforementioned man’s face) and lips that had shredded his heart were encased in the shimmering gloss of betrayal and deception. But, as it turned out, none of these poetic musings were the sort of thing mates said to each other. So he settled for his most  _ pressing  _ thought instead.

 

“Tight trousers.” Roger took a step towards Brian.

 

“I wanted the costume to be historically accurate.” Brian let a faux offended tone lace its way through his words. The plan was going quite well.

 

“Pretty sure Bolan wasn’t that much of a nerd.”

 

“Right, because he was too busy doing ecstasy.”

 

“Mate, you’re honestly just making him sound cooler. Besides I don’t know how accurate it is.”

 

Brian couldn’t help but scoff. He had spent  _ many  _ a few hours looking at photos of Marc Bolan for various reasons that did not need to be explained. 

 

“What about this,” he gestured to himself wildly with raised eyebrows, “is not accurate?”  

 

“Pretty sure,” Roger leaned much further into Brian’s personal space than was permitted by a gentle friendship and continued, “Marc had a bit more going on underneath those silk trousers. No need to feel badly though.”

 

With that the blonde entered their room and closed the door on Brian. Alright, perhaps the plan could’ve been going slightly better. 

 

Roger knew that, one, his statement was most certainly untrue, and two, realistically, small barbs like this were childish. The problem was realism had never suited Roger much. He took the parts of the world he liked and the rest could shove off as far as he was concerned. Not Brian though. He couldn’t just cut Brian from his life with the curly haired man’s own familiar razor blades. Brian was his flatmate, his bandmate, his friend. Period. Full stop. The muddled, mixed up, mountain of emotions and urges and misplaced touches the two had been climbing had crumbled beneath their hands before they ever reached the peak. So that was it. Friendship. 

 

Yet Roger had a hard time not knocking down the other man a peg or two when he could. To try and erase his previous attraction. To yell a cosmic  _ just kidding  _ to the universe. 

 

Freddie was getting on much better in his room. While the costume was relatively simple, leather trousers in a garish shade of red and a rather pompous crown, Freddie was sure the look would impress. Perhaps the crown wasn’t that simple. He had spent 11 hours constructing it in art class with carefully painted glass beads and faux crushed velvet. The fact it wasn’t an assigned project bothered Freddie very little who insisted to his sculpture professor he get credit for it as it was completely “extraordinary” and “terribly enchanting”. In the end he managed to annoy Mr. Davies into giving him partial marks. Despite all this the only one he really wanted to impress was already taken. On the way back from tea with Kash he had run into Jim who seemed overwhelmed with embarrassment at essentially ignoring Freddie for the last few weeks simply because he could not have him. In much the same vein as Mr. Davies it was easy to pester Jim into submission and he soon had him agreeing to attend their halloween party.

 

He hated how thoughts of Jim managed to worm their way into his brain every minute of the day. Even the space between seconds was chock full of them. It wasn’t that he expected anything to come from this party; any fruit of love or lust to be thrust forth into the world. He would settle for simply pining. He would settle for the gentleness that comes from the violence of an embrace. He would settle for presence instead of passion.

 

Lost in a sea of could-have-been-love Freddie was immensely thankful for his friends. No matter their neuroticies, oddities and quirks he knew in the late hours of the night and the early hours of the dawn they would be there for him. They would probably be in various states of drunkenness or passed out from not eating but they’d be there nonetheless.

 

Suited in his regalia Freddie did a quick twirl for John before the younger boy left to get alcohol for the party with his friend Veronica. 

 

“You’re a king?”

 

“Or a Queen darling it really doesn’t matter.” 

 

Brian’s curl topped head bobbed by their room. “Oh, he’s definitely a queen!”

 

John snickered as he pulled on a hoodie and left. No one bothered to confirm he would remember to buy the alcohol for the party. That was one thing an alcoholic would never forget. Not that John was one. They knew he was fine because he insisted once a day he wasn’t one. He could take care of himself.

 

Shortly after Freddie followed suit. No one bothered to confirm he would remember to buy the pills for the party. That was one thing a drug addict would never forget. Not that Freddie was one. They knew he was fine because he insisted once a day he wasn’t one. He could take care of himself.

 

Alone in the flat with Roger, Brian heard him making a ruckus in their room. 

 

A call of “Briannnnnnn!” Followed shortly after. There was very little chance of this going well.

 

Brian had done many difficult things in his life. He had the highest grades at his secondary school. He had built his own guitar from scratch. Everyday he resisted pushing the razor just a little too deep. But the next five minutes were the most difficult of his life. While Roger had always had a distinctly androgenous air about him, sometimes even a feminine one, this was something new. 

 

It was terribly hard, strenuous really, perhaps even impossible, to acknowledge that underneath the stockings, the knee high socks, the pleated skirt, white cotton shirt and pink tie was his mate Roger. Then he spoke and everything became so much worse. 

 

There was his Good Pal Roger looking like every schoolboy’s wet dream. 

 

The distinct huskiness of Roger’s voice and cigarette hanging out of his mouth made it very clear that this was indeed his Dear Old Friend Roger. The combination of Roger and a schoolgirl’s outfit was the catalyst to the next very difficult, agonizingly lovely five minutes. He cursed Marc Bolan and his unfairly tight trousers. It would be quite apparent that Brian  _ enjoyed  _ Roger’s costume rather quickly if he didn’t try and dampen the mood. He just had to think of something revolting. 

 

“Deaky wants the band to try out a disco song. No way in Hell if you ask me.” 

 

“What? Sure. Anyways, come on! I need help with my hair.” 

 

Brian shuffled over to where Roger sat on his bed and willed the building to collapse on them both. Nothing. Not even a piece of plaster. Whatever happened to a good old fashioned bombing? God those Londoners in the 1940s sure had it good. 

 

Roger moved to the edge of the mattress as it squealed obscenely and handed Brian some elastics with little bows on them. 

 

“Bunches please!” Brian leaned over him, still standing, and gathered up a tuft of Roger’s annoyingly soft hair. 

 

“Right.” 

 

Seriously why was this happening to him? Roger proclaimed them friends again and now he was going to be furious when his best mate got an erection while the blonde wore women’s clothes. He wondered what it was specifically that he had done to make to universe abandon its great projects of vast galaxy expansions and mystical creations and focus solely on destroying his life. He thought about the ant he had stepped on by accident as a child; that was most certainly it. Well that or using Roger for his own personal experiments and then leaving him heartbroken and alone. But definitely one of those two things. 

 

“Thanks by the way. I get all dressed up and the nicest thing you can think to do is talk about Deaky?” Parted pink lips and mascara rimmed blue eyes turned to look up at him. How could a man look like cotton candy and sin? Wait, sin? No, that wasn’t a fair description. Sin, however dirty and deviant, was something that could be found in the bible. Sin was something that graced even holy pages. The thoughts running through Brian’s head right now would surely eviscerate any sacred text on impact. 

 

“Fine you look nice. What do you want me to say?”  _ That I want to pull your hair and have you scream my name? That I want to pin you down and make you beg? That I want to push you down on your knees and have you choke on my-  _ Brian cleared his throat _.  _ One last twist of the hair. 

 

“I dunno. Nice is alright I guess.” He picked at the hem of his skirt that, should it have ever been worn to an actual school, would most certainly not have been up to par with dress code standards.

 

“Done.” 

 

He shifted the bunches to make them lay evenly on the blonde’s head but pulled much too hard as there was a rather thick haze in his mind at the moment. What cut quite deliciously through the haze, though, and landed straight between his legs was a sound that departed Roger’s parted lips. A sound that, had they not been Very Good Mates, Brian would’ve assumed to be a moan. 

 

Roger’s eyes blew up and his teeth make a clacking noise as he shut and opened his mouth. “Right I have to finish; you should go.” Roger’s cheeks were now flushed the same lovely pink as his lips were painted. “Finish getting ready. Not finish uh-” 

 

“No! Yeah! Of course. I should put on some music for when everyone gets here.” 

 

Brian was quick to exit their bedroom.

 

Now, there had been several Very Odd occurrences between Roger and Brian. Yet somehow, what seemed strangest of all to Roger was the sounds of Cher floating from the sunroom. He yelled out, not trusting himself to physically be around Brian.

 

“I thought you hated disco?”

 

“I do.” 

 

“Right.”

 

\-----

 

By the time Freddie returned with their haul for the night the groovy notes of Cher had been swapped out for the deity himself, Jimi Hendrix. The art student mused as he watched Roger and Brian string up orange and black streamers how very funny it was that the validity and sanctity of his habit seemed to depend on weather or not anyone needed to use him for anything. Usually he would be greeted with disapproving gazes and upturned noses when he took pills but now that they wanted some for the party it was all smiles and lazy waves.

 

He supposed he couldn’t blame them though. He was happy to agitate Roger before a show, letting his horrific temper out, because it made him hit the drums harder. He hadn’t said anything about Brian’s bandaged forearms either; at least it meant he didn’t have the worst habit. It made him feel like a bad friend; he could see the sadness in their eyes too. They all knew they were using eachother in a terribly codependent way but none could imagine their lives without the others anymore. It would be like ripping off an appendage, or far worse, a crown. They would die before abdicating the throne.

 

“Nice view Brian?” Freddie couldn’t help but note, with some amusement, that while Roger was perched on a ladder taping balloons to the ceiling, Brian seemed to be looking up his skirt. What terribly odd friends he had.

 

Brian’s face flared a spectacular shade of pink and seemed to run through all five stages of grief and then go back and settle on denial. 

 

“What? No. No! I’m- look I’m obviously uh, holding the ladder. I’m holding the ladder for Roger! Stop being such a perv.” His indignant tone was transparent at best.

 

“Oi! Why wouldn’t you look? I look like Lady fucking Godiva up here! The only way I’m going to find someone hotter than me to shag tonight is if I go at it with a mirror.”

 

Brian rolled his wandering eyes and tried to hide a smile while Freddie laughed properly not bothering to hide his teeth. No, they most certainly wouldn’t be abdicating any time soon. He rushed to his room to retrieve his crown as guests would be arriving.

 

With the palace ready the last member of their royal court entered with Veronica, and several cases of beer, in tow.

 

“Deaky, Deaky, Deaky, I’m dissapointed but not surprised. Where’s your and Veronica’s costumes?” Freddie probed as Roger took a single beer can from John’s overloaded arms. Brian sighed and came over to help the struggling engineering student.

 

“Oh, was it a costume party? I thought these were all of your guys’ everyday clothes.”

 

A regal glare from Marc Bolan, a schoolgirl and the king himself greeted John as Veronica laughed.

 

John shared a look with Veronica as he removed his tattered black hoodie and her her red love heart speckled cardigan with lace around the sleeves and collar. They dutifully traded and stood up straight.

 

“What the fuck are they doing?” The trio stared in confusion as Roger voiced their thoughts.

 

“Costumes.” John ‘explained’.

 

“What?” Was all Roger echoed.

 

“I’ve come as Veronica Tetzlaff.” John insisted as he buttoned up the lacey garment.

 

“And I’m John Deacon.” Veronica zipped up the hoodie and picked up a stray ABBA record. “Obviously.”

 

“His middle name is Richard,” Brian said in a rather smug tone, “in case you didn’t know.” 

 

“Sure.” Veronica gave Brian a confused look and started piling candy into mismatched bowls.

 

A proper little smile teased John’s face. “You remembered.” He eyed Brian.

 

“Course I did Deaky.”

 

“I really feel like we missed something.” Freddie looked at Roger in confusion.

 

“I don’t know,” Roger shrugged, “they probably just talk about how smart they think they are and stroke eachother’s egos until they both come.”

 

Freddie snickered and nodded in agreement. “Probably go on about math and stars and other dreadfully boring things. Sounds like the sort of thing that would get them going.”

 

Brian snapped one of the bows in Roger’s hair.

 

“Ow!”

 

By the time the doorbell went they’d all dissolved in laughter.

 

An hour into the party and the majority of their friends had arrived. Unusually timely for that lot. Free booze and drugs were a great motivator. Most wars would take half the time if each soldier was promised a free case of beer at the end of it. Well perhaps if each politician was. Soldiers had not much to do with the length of a war- they counted for little else but a death toll. 

 

The guests filing into their small flat came in a panoply of lustering hues.

 

Peter Freestone came in full drag but had refused to shave off his mustache. Freddie found this endlessly hilarious and had taken several Polaroids of them together. He also insisted on calling him Phoebe for the remainder of the night.

 

Mary Austin opted for a much more classic route and donned a pointy hat and broom, with which she almost beat Roger after he suggested she do a bit of tidying up around the flat as she’d already come prepared.

 

Tim Staffel showed up high as a hippie and looking like one too. Even his flower chain and round sunglasses couldn’t cover up with red eyes. He spent fifteen minutes hitting on Roger before he realized it was his old mate. Roger dissolved into laughter and gave Tim a quick peck on the lips. He said he felt bad for Tim because that was the only action he was going to get tonight.

 

More and more friends filing in and soon the flat was near bursting at capacity. The whole area throbbed with life and music. The walls seemed to develop a pulse, the very building clapped for them and the light fixtures winked in excitement. The whole thing was a fantasy. In reality the thin walls shook at the jumping, writhing, dancing crowd, neighbors knocked yelling at them to turn down the music, and the lighting was barely holding on due to two missed bill payments. It was glorious.

 

Neon lights screamed and the music flashed. A sea of bodies pressed together with little care for the person they were attached too. Everyone was flying, drunk and high. Dancing and yelling they were all invincible for just that night. Minds altered and surrounded by friends; their flat was an oasis for the overworked university student.

 

As Sweet’s Hellraiser blared from Deaky’s enhanced speakers Roger felt himself pushed up against a familiar gangly form.

 

“Fancy meeting you here Bolan.” He yelled up into Brian’s ear, which, as it turned out, was a large mistake, as his face was now nestled in his hair and stray strands stuck to his lipgloss.  _ Fuck.  _ As he tried to lean back Brian’s arms laced themselves around his waist so he could hear him. Absolutely no other intentions there.

 

“Haven’t seen you in a bit…. You? Uh, you’re just a school girl? No one in particular?” Brian felt Roger’s own breath on his neck as he spoke, leaning down and lips brushing the other’s forehead so he could hear him. Absolutely no other intentions there.

 

“I’m myself you nunce!” Roger kept his tone playful but he felt anything but. He couldn’t let himself get dragged into this again. It hurt so cruelly. All he had to do, he reasoned with himself, was not flirt with Brian. Easy.

 

“If you’re yourself why are you wearing a skirt?”

 

“God, why are you so obsessed with gender? If you care so much about that shit I should let you know  _ another  _ reason your custom isn’t accurate. Bolan snogged women  _ and  _ men you know. Pretty sure he didn’t have to pretend to be drunk to do it either.” He figured that final jab would do it and Brian would excuse himself and drop his beautifully warm hands from Roger’s waist.

 

It’s not that Brian didn’t know it was crossing a line, kissing your friend after he’d told you not to, but he was drunk, for real this time, and Roger had pissed him off. The only way to remedy the unfortunate cocktail of emotions was to press his lips to the blonde’s. 

 

“Want to help me make it more accurate then?”

 

“I know how this goes Bri and I’ll be damned if you do it again. Contrary to popular belief I’m not an idiot. We almost had a good run, almost had a spectacular go of it, it's just not our time. Maybe we’re misplaced in the universe.” His heart stung. Not the sharp fresh pain of a shock, no, this was a familiar ache. He pulled back from Brian slightly and surveyed the room. The original 70s records and vintage tour posters and Freddie and John. “Maybe all of us were put in the wrong era. Universe screwed us over is all. It’s no one’s fault really.”

 

Roger’s honest eyes reflecting flashing lights, and something much deeper, killed part of Brian. They slayed his epic speech about love and acceptance on his tongue. He supposed there would never be a right time to confess himself to Roger. He nodded once. 

 

“Right. Sorry for getting caught up and almost ruining our friendship.  _ Again. _ ” 

 

“Some things can’t be ruined.” A sad little smile was stamped onto Roger’s face and he leaned up on tip toes to give Brian a quick peck on the cheek. “I’d better go find my uni friends.”

 

Brian gave a nod. They’d done this dance far too many times. Maybe they were trapped in some sort of groundhog day esque dimension with no espace. It was worth it, he figured as he watched Roger’s skirt clad retreating form, for the one time it would work out right.

 

With the party in full swing a vaguely tipsy Irishman, sans his perpetually late boyfriend, appeared. 

 

Pouring himself a glass of vodka in the kitchen Jim prayed for Freddie to show up. Not knowing anyone else at the party he felt quite awkward. Unfortunately the next person to enter was a man in full drag, badly applied eyeshadow and a mustache. 

 

“Hi sorry, do you know where I could find Freddie?”

 

“Oh, you must be Freddie’s Jim! Nice to finally meet you!” The man was clearly already drunk and smiling like a lunatic. Jim doubted he’d be much help. What he did know though, was that being called ‘Freddie’s Jim’ planted an odd sensation deep in his stomach. “I’m Peter by the way.”

 

“Right, how do you know Freddie again?” The man seemed to be Freddie’s type. Mustache, tall, soft form, friendly. Jim didn’t like this one bit. Suddenly suspicious about the kind man the florist knew he was being unfair. He, himself, had a boyfriend afterall; and him and Freddie had agreed they weren’t meant to be right now. But right now was ages ago and Jim felt himself missing Freddie’s soft eyes and toothy grin.

 

“We go drinking together a lot,” Peter laughed then, seeing Jim’s disgruntled expression, “we’re just friends by the way. Freddie’s over by the purple lights last I saw him.”

 

Relief flowed over Jim as well as a deep washing of shame. “Thanks, I’d best be on my way then.” 

 

“Good luck!” He couldn’t help the small squeak that parted his lips as Peter slapped him on the ass as he walked past. Why did Freddie have such odd friends?

 

Sure enough, outlined by a purple glow, and topped by a glistening crown stood the man who made him feel more emotions in three months than he had in two years. 

 

“You’ve made it! I wasn’t sure if you’d be coming or not.” His crown didn’t shimmer nearly as much as his eyes. “Is Joe coming?”

 

“He will be, later. Have you anyone with you?”

 

He expected Freddie to cut him an annoyed glance but instead it was terribly forlorn. “No one for me.”

 

“Really Freddie you’re great. I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually.” Jim prayed with every fibre in his being Freddie would be happy eventually. He deserved it. Not to say that seeing Freddie with another man wouldn’t tear out his heart and shred his mind.

 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m a station and not a destination.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I’m just a stop for people, a brief fleeting almost, that fades away once they find who they really want. No one is happy with me, just me. I don’t think I would change myself though. I like who I am; I don’t know if I’ll find someone else who does too.” Freddie looked strangely sober as he spoke and spectacularly sad.

 

“If you dared to change yourself it would be a disgrace upon society. You’re a beautiful, wonderful, passionate man and anyone who can’t see that is clinically dense.”

 

“Does Joe makes you feel passion?” There was nothing nefarious hiding behind his eyes. Just honest curiosity. 

 

“Show me your room.” Answering the question would’ve been too humiliating. After two years, nothing. Not an ounce of the stuff. Maybe Joe was his station and the man in front of him his destination. His answer supplied Freddie with all he needed to know anyways.

 

They couldn’t close the door fast enough.

 

Every drop of reason in the galaxy’s vast synaptic system screamed at them to stop. Told them how wrong it was. They’d already agreed it was at best illogical and at worse amoral. But an unyielding force far greater than logic would ever be told Jim to bring his hand up to Freddie’s cheek. This force, that was so much more powerful and heavy and dense than the world’s enduring reason, was an undeniable fact. Freddie Mercury and Jim Hutton cared about each other. Not love- not yet. But the lovely spring bloom of true investment in one another’s lives. It was deceivingly rare to find one who felt a genuine thrill at your anecdote about a flat tire, who heard music in your sleep rattled voice, who’s mind thought of you even without your physical presence. And they knew. Because is was said in tea and biscuits, in borrowed jumpers and purring cats, in delicate white blooms the first night they met. The question now, as their lips met, was: when was a kiss just a kiss? And when was it something more? 

 

The answer came quite easily. A kiss was something more when putrid vodka on eachother’s lips tasted like sweet cream, when something heavy and star filled clicked in the deepest folds of your brain, when gently placed hands felt like something searing and grand, when bumped teeth and slick clumsy tongues felt like the Bolshoi, when even the sound of a door, and their doom, being dragged open couldn’t break them apart. 

 

“Fuck you Jim! You said you wouldn’t do this!”

 

Time unpaused and the music from the party reached their ears once again. A cool breeze from Freddie’s open window tore at them. Joe’s fuming form assaulted their eyes. 

 

Freddie didn’t even feel guilty as him and Jim parted. Everything just felt so incredibly right. He’d found his destination after all.

 

“Joe I’m sorry I-”

 

“What you’re drunk? It was a mistake? Save it. You’ve been pining after him for months.”

 

Freddie waited with held breath for Jim’s answer. Did he think him a mistake?

 

“You’ve been distant Joe.” The Irishman’s hand still hadn’t left the small of Freddie’s back.

 

“Unbelievable.” The word was barely a whisper from Joe’s mouth and he turned on his heel to walk away.

 

Before Jim could react Freddie felt a flowery sadness bloom up in his throat and threaten to choke him. He already knew what would happen. If Jim Hutton was a different man he’d close the door again and push Freddie down on the bed like they had both wanted for so very long, but, rather unfortunately, Jim Hutton was a good man. So he ran after Joe with a small  _ sorry  _ directed at Freddie. Funny that. If Jim wasn’t so very moral he would be right where Freddie wanted him; but, if he wasn’t so moral he wouldn’t be Jim Hutton and Freddie wouldn’t want him anyways. 

 

Roger watched as a curly haired blonde man he took to be Joe ran past him from Freddie’s room with Jim quick to follow. He made a note to ask his friend about it in the morning. He was most certainly too busy now.

 

The best way to get over a tumulchous crush, an almost love? The proven method? The golden rule? A threesome. 

 

A bloke from his biology lecture had shown up and taken a shining to him as well as one of Mary’s friends named Stacy or Amanda or Lexi or something very similar to one of those names. He wasn’t sure if either of them had figured out his gender but he wasn’t sure either of them cared. What a nice change of pace. 

 

Minutes later the three of them were drunkenly stumbling down the back alley to Stacy or Amanda or Lexi’s flat when Roger realized his very terrible luck at being out of both condoms and cigarettes. He was happy to let the universe try and fool him into improving his lung health but he wasn’t ready to take a gamble with an STI. Not being able to have sex anymore would probably kill him before lung cancer did. He veered off to the late night shop around the corner and promised to meet them both back at Stacy or Amanda or Lexi’s flat.

 

“Well I’ll be damned.” Perhaps the universe had greater plans for him than lung cancer and syphilis after all.

 

Street lamps reflecting off the golden specks underneath his eyes Brian May stood alone. Needing a break from the ear shattering noise and throngs of people (he did briefly wonder how Deaky was coping) he had left the party with the full intention of returning once the ringing in his head stopped. Maybe he just needed to drink more. His vision crossed slightly as he looked up and he decided he was plenty drunk enough. Turning to peer down the fuzzy street he made eye contact with the one person who felt like home turf and foreign sands at the same time.

 

Roger’s bunches bounced as he walked over to Brian.

 

A distinct silence passed between them that meant everything and nothing. A silence that said to cut the small talk because now wasn’t the time. A silence that said there was something sharp and rare floating around them and time was running out.

 

“Bri, we’re friends.” The words seemed to be choked out of Roger. Like a thick bile, a poison he was vomiting up. 

 

The mere inches between them felt larger than the sea.

 

Brian knew this was it. His last chance, their last chance. He prayed to the only gods he believed in, the stars and the moon.

 

“You know friendship isn’t it for us. That’s not the last sentence in our story. When we’re together we’re electric; we glow. They can see us from space and I don’t give a damn. I hate myself for not being brave enough to tell you sooner. But I feel it, every day. When I see your star earrings. When you bring me food. When you talk about cars or your drums. I see it in your laugh and your smile and the way you move. I see it in how you get onto the tube and the way you open doors for strangers. I see you Roger Taylor. Even when you’re punching a wall or smashing a plate I see you. I detest my love and your apathy and your love and my apathy as well. I know it’s not fair Roger. To want you and push you away every other day. But I mean it this time. I really do. I want to try for something, anything, with you.”

 

Roger wanted it, god, did he want it.  But blood had clotted in the wound of his mind and he wasn't sure he’d survive another laceration. However, his heart was an entirely different matter than his mind. Not ruled by silly conventions such as logic and reason. Oh yes his heart was very different.  His heart had been battered time and time again yet it was ready to hand Brian a baseball bat and tell him to take another swing . 

 

When describing Roger Taylor most people would say he ruled with his heart not his head. But those people hadn’t seen his heart being cut out of his chest by a curly haired guitarist day after day.

 

“That’s nice Brian, and I think, I even think you believe what you’re saying. But I don’t. I’m not a toy for you to use to get your rocks off because of some repressed fantasy. You had a chance but you fucked me over too many times.” It took every fibre of Roger’s being not to accept his apology, to not fall to his knees and kiss lines up Brian’s thighs, to say no, to do the opposite of what he truly wanted. It would be better in the long run, he tried to reason with himself.

 

“ I'm on the verge of tears here,  _ please _ .” Brian’s pleading eyes bore into him and he took a step forward, the two men now nestled deep in the belly of the alley, far from the golden street lights.

 

“Then go home. This is no place for self pity or sorrow. You may be able to talk yourself into vindication when you’re alone but by God, guilt does not make you holy.” It was incredibly dark and Roger was pressed up against a wall, he could feel the warmth of Brian against his chest, he felt powerful, he felt weak.

 

“I'm sorry Rog.”

 

“I know you are.” Roger couldn’t even find it in himself to be upset, he looked around desperately, wildly, looking for any reason, any life line to pull himself out of his sea of emotions. The street lights seemed so far away and the only light seeped from Brian’s bright eyes. 

 

In his desperate attempt to look anywhere but Brian Roger saw a light above them. But no, that wasn’t right? Wasn’t the light coming from Brian? 

 

That was precisely when Roger Taylor realized he was in love with Brian May. Or at least in almost-love. In could-be-love.

 

_ Find someone who drowns out the world,  _ his mother always used to say. Well he’d found him. Brian had obscured everything around them. 

 

Still clinging to an attempt to protect his delicate heart Roger tried one last angle.

 

“How do you even know I'm still attracted to you? Maybe I don’t want you anymore.”

 

Brian saw it though, the shift in Roger’s eyes and the collapse of a few alternate dimensions. Roger Taylor most certainly did want him. But Roger wanted him to work for it, after all the heartache it was only fair. It was a good thing Brian May was feeling exceptionally bold today.

 

One of Brian’s hands came down and pushed Roger’s hip into the wall while the other reached up and twirled around a lopsided bunch. He gave it a quick tug.

 

“Then what sound was it  _ exactly  _ you were making earlier?” 

 

Roger managed to clog the moan in the back of his throat but he couldn’t help the shaky breath that rushed out from his mouth, couldn’t help the begging eyes, couldn’t help the way his pelvis jerked forwards, couldn’t help the way his lips parted as Brian pushed his hips back against the wall. 

 

“Brian?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Kiss me.”

 

The taller man leaned down lips millimeters from Roger’s. His eyes fluttered closed. This was it.

 

He couldn’t help the small exclamation as Roger pressed a hand on his chest and shoved him back.

 

“What the hell Roger?” His expression almost softened looking at the blonde. He looked pitifully distraught. He managed to sound even more desperate than he looked. 

 

“If you do this, we do this, then that’s it. Everytime we get this far I feel like I’m going to cry because I know you’re going to run. You don’t get to bury your feelings anymore; you don’t get to bury me anymore. We’re on the same level after this. You don’t get anymore satisfaction from knowing your best mate wants to have you while keeping some dignity for yourself. After this, it’s you and me, okay?”

 

Brian knew after his concealing and his cruelty there was nothing he could say to make Roger believe he really, truly, deeply, earnestly wanted him. So he’d have to show him.

 

They’d had many kisses now. Tentative. Frantic. Desperate. Angry. But this was something new. Passionate and kind and electrifying. He was sure Cupid and Psyche would kill themselves in shame for not having brought the two of them together sooner. Everything fit and flowed. It bloomed and rattled in his mind. Whispered and yelled in the recesses of his heart. 

 

Hands grabbed for lusher things and the once quiet alley filled with delighted moans and promises in dulcet tones.

 

Brian let his lips drift heavily from Roger’s gloss slick lips to his ear. “You and me. I promise.” And for the first time he meant it. 

 

It had taken long autumn months but Brian’s world had cracked and crumbled and at first he had wept for it. Lamented its passing with anger and scorn; with razor blades and contempt. But now in its place were brighter gardens and sunnier skies.

 

Brian’s mind felt fuzzy as Roger sank to his knees and pulled at Brian’s zip.

 

It was then an unknown cosmic energy misplaced by some God of old ate at his entire body. The feeling was foreign and delightful. What was it? Ah, that was it, Brian May felt alive for the first time in 20 years. He was floating high in amongst the stars and his last connection to Earth was a white knuckled grip on Roger’s hair. The stars around him grew hotter and brighter until they were an unbearable sensational pressing down upon him and pulling at his flesh.

 

As Roger stood up Brian swore he would’ve come again if he hadn’t just done so. Lipgloss smeared around his mouth, white socks stained with dirt at the knees, lopsided bunches from where Brian was grabbing at them. What was that saying about divinity and chaos again?

 

There was an odd distance now between the two given that, however poetically stated, Roger had given Brian a blowjob in an alley at 2am. 

 

“I’m going to go get some cigarettes.” Roger’s voice sounded a bit more gravelly than usual. Brian wondered if he’d hurt Roger’s throat. Was it supposed to hurt?

 

“Right.”

 

All the electricity that had illuminated them now seemed to snap viciously at their silence. Shifts in the universe, however fitting, always required an adjustment period. Three to four business days seemed to be the going rate.

 

“Are you coming?”

 

“What- I-”

 

“Are you coming with me to get cigarettes?”

 

“Right.” Brian could help the little laugh that bubbled up from the pit of his stomach at their absurd, newly minted delicacy. Stable friends and fragile lovers was it? Was that what they were? He didn’t know but figured a more appropriate time to discuss that would arise when they were sober. He laughed properly then. “Yes of course I’m coming with you.” He would never let Roger walk away again.

 

“Good,” Roger threaded their hands together as they stepped out from their alley bathed in light, “the least you can do now is buy me some cigarettes.” He added with a laugh.

 

As the two languished, hand in hand, over cobblestone streets, Brian realized that even when dirt and grass reclaimed his bones he’d never forget this moment.

 

Back at the flat the party continued to pulsate and thrive save two musicians slumped against the kitchen cabinets. 

 

After the unfortunate uncovering in Freddie’s bedroom by Joe and subsequent abandonment by Jim he’d reluctantly rejoined the party. Peter and Mary did their best to cheer him up and, failing that, poured him a drink. He’d danced with his friends for a bit longer, not wanting them to worry, and then retreated to the kitchen for a bit of peace.

 

Upon the floor he rather unsurprisingly found their bassist. 

 

“What happened to Veronica?”

 

“She went home.”

 

“What happened to you? You were having a great time. I saw you dancing.”

 

“You don’t exactly look over the moon yourself.”

 

“It’s Jim.”

 

“It’s always Jim.” 

 

“I think we’re meant to be John.” He gave up and sat down next to his friend who leaned his head against the older man’s shoulder.

 

“Why didn’t you go after him when he left then?”

 

Freddie’s face blushed red instead of answering.

 

“You have to let go of your pride.” John continued.

 

“And you need to find a way to deal with people other than hiding in a kitchen. So, it looks like we both have a lot of work to do.”

 

“That’s why we’re friends, isn’t it? We’re both fucked up? All four of us are really. Wouldn’t work in the slightest if one of us managed to wrangle our vices and fears and malatributes into submission.” 

 

“You make us all sound so pitiful.”

 

“No, that’s just why we need eachother.” John paused and then continued. “I wish I didn’t have it. Wish I could just walk around like the rest of you.”

 

“What do you mean?” The art student’s eyebrows drew together in concern for John.

 

“I have this terrible thing around people. Around my family, a few friends, I can get by. But being around most people? It fills me with dread. It knips at my heels and infests my mind. I always remember then that I'm just made of a bunch of twirling shaking atoms because that's how I feel. My whole self is trembling. My head is teeming with this icy indecision. I can barely breath. Sometimes I start to think my heart will beat so fast I'll die on the spot. I'd rather most of the time. Rather die than face a crowd. It's been getting better though. Little by little. It's the gigs. Facing the world with the three of you and our music. That's something I want- something I need.” He wouldn’t look up at Freddie and continued staring straight ahead.   
  
The last part would've filled Freddie with an unimaginable happiness, knowing he was helping his friend, if he thought it to be true. Perhaps he was getting better, but if so, it was going to be a long fucking process because just last week Freddie had seen the younger boy put out a cigarette on his own arm when they were over at Mary’s because he had been too scared to ask for an ashtray and inconvenience anyone. The scar was a pretty pink circle below the bassist’s elbow now.

 

“I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do.”

 

“Just be yourself. That helps me plenty Fred.”

 

“Be a dear and get me something from the cupboard will you? I can’t stand this party a second longer without some sort of  _ aid.”  _

 

“You’re not a messiah simply because you claim to be one.” The younger boy snapped. “You don’t get resurrected from the dead when I find you face down in your own vomit after one pill too many.” 

 

“Well then what about you John?” Freddie felt his temperature and voice rising, “who do you think you are drinking yourself under the table very night.”

 

“That's the difference between us Freddie. I never said I wanted to live. Never said I wanted to be a permanent fixture in the world.”

 

A cooling silence washed them over.

 

“We need a bassist for the band.” Freddie reached over and brushed John’s hair from his eyes. He placed the crown on John’s head. He looked beautifully regal. A smile haunted the back of his eyes and almost reached his lips.

 

“I know.” 

 

“Do you really wish you were dead?”

 

“No,” he paused, “I don’t anymore. I never pictured making it this far you know? I never thought I’d make it out of secondary school. I never planned on having a life. A real life, with friends, and a home, and a passion.” 

 

“So we both have reasons to be stop then. To stay away from godly proclamations about our invincibility.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Make believe is nice.”

 

“Hell of a lot better than the real world.”

 

“I’m not going to quit you know.”

 

“Me either.” John didn’t see a point in lying when Freddie was being honest.

 

“We can be a bit more careful though?”

 

“We are oddly delicate, you and I.”

 

“You’ll be more careful?” Freddie pressed.

 

“Sure, if you will. Also only if I get to keep this crown.” 

 

“Only if you feel comfortable going around deeming yourself queen of all living beings.” 

 

He handed back the crown.

 

“I thought we were going to stop the divine musings?” 

 

“Oh but that one is just so much fun dear.”

 

John shifted to face Freddie. 

 

“What do you say we hijack the speakers and put some proper disco on?”

 

They smiled widely at eachother as they jumped from the floor.

 

“I wouldn’t want to end the night any other way.”

 

As it turned out the disco was less of an end and more of a second breath into the party. By the time a rather devilish looking Roger and Brian returned the flat was threatening to burst once again for all the chaotically dancing bodies in it.

 

The four managed to reunite in the centre of the room as The Beatles’ Helter Skelter filled the speakers.

 

“What happened to your tights Rog? They’re all ripped at the knees.” John’s genuine confusion caused the blonde to laugh and Brian to blush heavily. The pair could only thank the Gods that Freddie hadn’t overheard. 

 

By the time the last guest left it had breached 5am. Thoroughly exhausted the quartet lay strewn around the sunroom with various pillows. John snored lightly, still donning the frilly cardigan and Freddie had his crown propped over his eyes, trying to block out the assault of morning sunlight. Roger was vacuum sealed to Brian’s side, not that he minded, as he gently stroked the blonde’s hair. 

 

As the sun rose on a new day an unnatural contentment settled over the flat.

\-----

 

Unusually angst free for me??? I know!!

 

look,,, I CANNOT implore you enough,, pls comment!! I wrote over 8000 ficking words,,, for a single chapter, please spare me 20 for a comment <3


	14. Twelve

 

Recommended listening for this chapter? I’ve Gotta Get a Message to You by The BeeGees,,,

 

Sorry its a bit of a filler chapter!!! I felt we needed some more emotional depth with maylor before I could carry on with anything else! There will be more action coming up soon,,babeyyyy,,,

\-----

 

Not everything tragic begins with something vast and great, sometimes the most tragic upheavals, colossal and cantankerous, begin with something small. Brian's greatest tragedy began with a heady lump in the back of his throat.

 

“Brian do you remember Mr. and Mrs. Wilson’s daughter, Amanda?” His mother spoke across the dining room table.

 

“Not really.” He pushed the putrid pink slice of ham to the border of his plate.

 

“She went to science camp with you eight summers ago? She has that pretty blonde hair? I think her sister works in finance now.”

 

“Sure, yeah I remember her.” He didn’t.

 

“I knew you would! Anyways, she’s just moved back to the city and I was thinking you could show her around. I’ve given your mobile to her mum and her mum is-”

 

“For the love of God stop trying to set me up!” Brian felt a tinge of guilt as his mother winced at his raised voice. He pushed the ham further away. “Look, I’m busy with uni and my friends right now.” He added in a more gentle tone.

 

“Your mother is worried about you being alone Brian. You’re our only son after all. Eat up, you’re too thin.” His father’s gaze bore into his skull until he choked down a piece of broccoli.

 

“Remember Roger?” He ventured ever so gently. 

 

“Who? The blonde one with long hair?” His mother asked with knit brows.

 

“That was a bloke?” 

 

“Yes Dad he’s a bloke- a man. He um, we-”

 

“Yes?” His mother was looking more and more concerned. He wanted to tell her, he truly did. He thought, prayed really, that his parents would still love him.

 

But faith a strategy did not make.

 

“He, uh plays the drums.” Brian had been working up the courage for two weeks. Practicing his little speech about not needing their approval and how very much he liked Roger. Preparing himself for the monthly family dinner of many Hellish Horrors. Having to consume a disgusting amount of calories to make his mother stop worrying. Watching as his parents piled animal flesh onto his plate and then ridicule his sensitive nature for not eating it. But worst of all he was going to tell them an undeniable truth. The problem was with undeniable truths was how very often they were denied. His parents weren’t homophobic- they watched Graham Norton on telly after all. Their quarrel, in the end, as they were Godly people, would’ve been with his creator, not him, for  _ making  _ their son gay. Despite this he very much doubted they’d want him to be involved with another man. He should’ve just let his Father think Roger was a woman- problem solved. 

 

“That’s nice to have friends with similar interests dear.” His mother nodded happily.

 

“Yeah,  _ friends. _ ” He couldn’t very well tell her the way Roger moved made him doubt the existence of a God, now could he?

 

“You’re not playing too much and forgetting about university are you? When will you have your midterm grades back?” His father pushed.

 

“No I haven’t played in a while.”  _ Liar,  _ Brian thought to himself. He didn’t want them to worry about his slipping interest in school and reignited passion for music. Didn’t want to bother them with unimportant things like the details of their only son’s life. “I just finished my last exams yesterday- it won’t be for a few weeks yet.”

 

Did he feel guilty? Of course, who wouldn’t, Brian reasoned as he walked from the train station and scraped the container of leftovers his mum had sent with him into the trash. 

 

Head in the clouds and purple crescent moons beneath his eyes. Hair astray and cheekbones pointing cleanly across his face. Tight lips and kind eyes. He was engaged in a ceaseless revolt with his own mind. He found himself to, quite often, be losing. As was usually the case when your enemy shared homebase inside your brain. He took his own abode and peace and smeared its brokenness across the sky. His own brain taking up residence inside his consciousness of fear and uncertainty. He cried to be let out but his prison bars were caked shut with rust- they were very hard to clean.

 

But he just had to hold on a bit longer and soon the thrumming in his head, the overwhelming pressure would slip away. They’d agreed to meet at the record shop for another practice session before the band competition final in two days. The beat of Roger’s drums always seemed to calm his racing heart, Freddie’s vocals soothed his screaming brain and John’s basslines ironed out the creases in his forehead. Their music was a melodic life preserver thrown out into the seas of his anxiety and guilt. 

 

Ah, and there was his golden beacon calling him into shore now.

 

Leaning against the backdoor of the shop smoking and singing lightly under his breath was his Boyfriend. Brian had a hard time not adding a capital B when he thought about it. It just seemed so very formal, so very official, so very stuffy and lackluster for what him and Roger were. They were wild and reckless and preordained.  There was a time he held Roger’s eggshell heart in his hands but he’d bruised and bloodied it beyond recognition. He tried to return it only to find its owner was no longer interested in owning one. He had then stared on in wonder as Roger burnt down his own Earth and Heaven and Hell; watched as the blonde cracked himself open for damnation once again. Gods of old intertwined their high hanging hearts and low hanging morals with wide eyes and delicate mouths. So there he was, his Boyfriend,  leaning against the backdoor of the shop smoking and singing lightly under his breath.

 

They’d talked about it, gone to get some greasy hangover food the morning after the Halloween party, and had a proper chat. He’d seen the terror in Roger’s eyes. How very convinced Roger was that Brian would backtrack, would leave, would laugh in his face and say it was all a terribly cruel joke. 

 

“We’ve played the game long enough Bri. Pretty sure we can skip right to dating after I seduced you on the couch that one time.”

 

“You didn’t seduce me!”

 

“Did too! Why’d you have an erection then?”

 

An elderly woman turned to glare at them from the next booth over.

 

“Mind your own business lady.” 

 

“Roger!”

 

“What?”

 

“Fine, I’ll date you. If you’re so  _ very desperate  _ for me.” Brian sipped at his black coffee thinking he’d pulled the whole thing off in a very cool way.

 

“Great, now that we’re dating I can be honest with you. I’m not the desperate one; in that alley last night you came in like-”

 

“Roger!”

 

“What?” The blonde, still in the rouge and mascara from last night (thankfully for Brian’s heart he had changed into jeans and a jumper) started splitting the food on his own plate and placing seeded toast, hearty steaming beans and lovely golden fried tomatoes in front of Brian. 

 

“What should I call you?” The curly haired guitarist pushed around the congealed clump of beans. “When I tell people about you?” 

 

It almost hurt Brian how excited Roger seemed at the notion. As his eyes lit up and a smile cracked his face he realized how very poorly he’d been treating his friend. He vowed to do better. 

 

“You wanna tell people about me? Like your friends? Your parents?”

 

Roger’s last sentence sent an icy fist upon his heart and engulfed his brain in magma. 

 

“Of course.” Roger just seemed so damn happy he couldn’t say no. Anyways, he could always procrastinate a day or two. 

 

A smirk danced over the blonde’s face that made Brian’s heart skip a beat. Nothing good ever came after that look.

 

For a hungover, off balance, poorly sighted wreckingball of a man Roger managed to shimmy under the booth with relative ease and pop up beside Brian. With a hand on his thigh Roger leaned in and pressed their lips together. Brian was only too happy to part his lips and weave a hand through blonde hair. That is until he remembered that they were currently sat in an awfully public place. He jerked back and Roger chuckled.

 

“Call me your boyfriend.” It didn’t surprise Brian. Roger lived fast in every way. He could burn through every stage of a relationship within two weeks of meeting someone. He knew this was different though; they were different.

 

Damn the public. He leaned back in to kiss Roger again.

 

“When should we tell Deaky and Fred?” He ventured coming up for air.

 

“Not for a bit.” That wasn’t the answer Brian had expected from Roger at all. 

 

“What, why? I thought I was supposed to be the nervous one.”

 

“You really think you can deal with the sort of questions Freddie’s going to ask you?”

 

Brian’s face burned red at the very notion. “Probably a good idea.” But now that thought, that thought of what specific and personal questions Freddie would ask, had taken root in Brian’s mind. His blush spilled further down his chest at the idea of the other things him and Roger would be doing.

 

Seemingly on the same wave length Roger ran his hand dangerously higher on Brian’s thigh and started whispering things in his ear that made him feel dizzy with delight and anticipation. 

 

“Ground control to Major Tom?” Roger waved his hand in front of Brian’s far away eyes as they stood in the alley, no longer in the diner of Brian’s memories.

 

“Right sorry. Just thinking about that diner we got kicked out of for uh, you know.” He coughed, trailing off awkwardly.

 

“Me trying to give you a handjob under the table? Yeah. Good times. Wait which time was that again?” He chuckled.

 

“We’re going to set the record for most public areas barred from.”

 

“A man can only dream.” He stubbed out his cigarette and ran a hand along Brian’s sharp hip. “Speaking of public.” 

 

“Rog, stop it! Freddie and John-”

 

“Are inside!”

 

“We should go in.”

 

“Yeah, believe me that exactly what I want. For you to go in.”

 

“You’re disgusting.” He leaned down and kissed him on soft lips and let his hand drift like butterfly wing tips down Roger’s back.

 

“Yeah but you still fancy me so really I’m just a reflection of your own poor taste.” He wrapped an arm around Brian’s waist his fingers trailing up and down distinct ribs. “How’d it go by the way? Telling your parents?”

 

“Great! Good. Fine really. They’re, uh going to take some time to adjust. But they were alright overall.” The drummer looked so earnest. Brian couldn’t bare to be the one to wipe that look from his face. “The competition is in two days we should go practice.” He turned curtley and walked inside.

 

If Roger had been the suspicious type, the sceptical type, the sardonic type, he might have found this odd. Brian’s cold exit that seemed to stir the winter wind itself. Roger snubbed out his cigarette and pulled his plush coat tighter as he followed Brian inside. He couldn’t help the smile that formed, unprompted and half baked, upon his lips as his boyfriend strummed at his guitar. Because he wasn’t suspicious or sceptical or sardonic. He was positively sanguine. 

 

While he embodied an earnest optimist in regards to his relationship the same could not be said about the band. 

 

All four members found themselves propped up by a smug knowingness. The type usually reserved for popes or that one bloke who broke into Area 51. 

 

The problem with being as informed upon the music scene as they were was knowing when something was Good as opposed to good. And they’d be damned if they didn’t believe themselves to be Good.

 

They practiced just as hard and often with the final looming two mere days away but there was something different about the record shop basement.

 

The leading theory was that someone had switched out the air in the formerly lacklustre area for better, cleaner air, probably from the Peak District or something. Or maybe this was a fourway fever dream after some bad sushi. Or maybe, and this was the most insane and inane of all, was that prior to winning they’d grown past the competition.

 

Objectively they were miles ahead, away and beyond the other bands. They would win. But something much deeper and meaningful had taken root.

 

Several leagues under the sea of friendship or love or fame was something that surpassed all three- a unique musical sound.

 

Something that plucked your soul and drew your pupils out wide. Something that made your lips quiver and your legs howl. Something special and delicate and oh so rare. A gift of the fairies or the Gods or Satan herself. 

 

But, by looks, they were not the universe’s plan of manifest destiny for the musical world.

 

Roger was currently trying to blow smoke rings  _ into  _ his bass drum, Brian was holding a mental funeral for a fly he found dead on the window sill moments ago, John was inexplicably cutting his joggers into scandalously short shorts, and Freddie, well Freddie was lost deep in the unfortunate forest of feelings.

 

His eyes continued to bore into his mobile phone, willing a text from Jim to appear.

 

After their kiss and the Irishman’s subsequent departure he’d sent a message saying he just needed to talk to Joe and then he’d be back to see Freddie. That had been two weeks ago.

 

Despite Jim, without Jim and regardless of Jim, he was sure of himself. Knew who he was and what he was meant to do. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to turn himself into a priest and burn his fate into the sand. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to place Jim’s face in stone and cart it to the Louvre. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to run down the older man’s telephone and scream into the face of his guardian angel. 

 

He was a romantic afterall. Maybe the last true one.

 

The motley crew eventually started up as a bass line, sure and steady, unlike the anxiety strung man it came from, echoed into poster plastered walls. 

 

Haunting sounds of old and new possessed each instrument with unquantifiable skill. Fresh, old, earnest, smug, excitable, mellow - Queen was everything and anything to anyone who would listen.

 

John had ventured once, that it had been the cause of their bad reviews by music critics. Fans loved them and the university press loathed them. That was the power of unexplained lyrics and soul gripping riffs. They could be anything you wanted them to be; and sometimes people wanted an enemy. So why not one in lyra and makeup?

 

They were wild, each a rock n’ roll child of an old generation, misplaced from time and ejected by space. They were Queen.

 

Nerves no more they were confidence incarnate as they closed out the practice session.  Angels chewed on the scraps of beauty and destiny penned notes that lingered in the air.

 

“Huh.” John gently zipped up the case of his bass as their session drew to a close.

 

“God, that’s concerning.” Brian rolled his eyes but let a smile play gently upon his lips.

 

“I mean, we’re going to win, easily. Roger and Brian could have some blow out fight before hand, Freddie could do about 18 lines of coke and I could get so drunk I could barely prop myself up yet, I think we could do it.”

 

“Are you expectations really that low dear?” Freddie snickered.

 

“I like to be prepared.”

 

“Is that why you have enough bottles of gin kicking around for the apocalypse?” Roger threw a crumpled up sheet of music his way.

 

“No, that Roger, is because I have to deal with the three of you everyday.”

 

“Hey, I’m a delight!” The art student protested.

 

“Okay fine. That Roger, is because I have to deal with you and Brian everyday.”

 

“What? Freddie just gets out of it?” Brian feigned horror as he slung his guitar bag over his shoulder.

 

“Well he  _ is  _ a delight.” John’s stony faced delivery of the line brought about several laughs and a vow from Brian and Roger to show what delights they were as well. This consisted of them sticking post it notes on each other with the word delight written on them asking John if they, respectively, were delightful enough yet.

 

They ran out of paper before John would confirm their status as absolute delights.

 

The dregs of the day started to nip at their heels and the darkening sky nudged them home.

 

All four felt a dangerous sense of happiness settle around them.

 

\-----

 

It was the time of night during which all who were not monsters masquerading as men should be home. The pubs had rang their bells yet the church bells of the morn hadn't started up yet. It was the odd inbetween time. Last night’s sons yet to confess to their sins. The time when guilt and fear hung heavy in the air. It was Roger Taylor's favourite time of night.

 

Beer brined and eye shined he left the pub in high spirits. He had met up with his mates from uni for one last drink before grades came out but he turned down Crystal’s offer of returning back to his place with the other guys to continue their night. 

 

Part way through the evening he had managed to pinpoint what exactly it was that had been throwing him off kilter all night.

 

Brian wasn’t there. 

 

He would turn to share a look or reference a private joke only to find the lanky man’s form missing from the hallowed grounds of the local pub. 

 

Bathed in moonlight as his feet wobbled along cobblestones it was also then that he formulated his brilliant plan to help Brian.

 

He hadn’t taken Roger up on his offer to join in as grades were due to be released any moment. He watched helplessly as his boyfriend fretted as earnestly as a debutante waiting to hear back on the fate of her betrothed during the Civil War. Perhaps, that was an unfair comparison. The debutante retained a bit more dignity about herself. 

 

What better to distract the starry eyed boy than space itself? 

 

As he returned to the flat complex Roger ‘discovered’ the lock on the maintenance door to the roof had ‘spontaneously broken’. How disastrously convenient. 

 

It was oddly and endearingly simple to convince his boyfriend to, at 4am, walk up the rickety staircase to the roof with him. He suspected the taller man had always harboured a secret desire to languish across the broken tiles and squint into the street light polluted sky, praying for a prick of otherworldly light. Roger was sure he would do anything to get a few inches closer to the stars.

 

They reclined on their backs against the moonbeam drenched surface of the roof.

 

A stiff wind tugged at Brian’s jumper; the voice of reason stirred.

 

“Why are we up here Rog?”

 

“The door was open.”

 

“You’re drunk and its 4am. Why are we up here?” Hand splayed out across Roger’s chest his fingers gently played an imaginary guitar tune from the recesses of his brain. He got to the chorus before the blonde answered.

 

“You like the stars.” His voice sounded small and unsure.

 

“I do.”

 

“I can’t stand to see you tearing yourself apart over exams Bri. I know how much they mean to you but you’re enough. You deserve to be happy and you’re ridiculously smart no matter what some fucking standardized test says. None of it matters. You’re above that; beyond that.” The wings of compassion in his blue eyes dipped themselves in fury as he continued. “You’re extraordinary and I’m starting to think no one in your damn life has told you that before.”

 

It was then Brian’s eyes turned to planet rings and tears dripped down them as comet strings. He wept and the universe mourned with him, upset by its favourite son’s lament. It was all too much: his guilt, the hunger consuming his body, the stress of exams and the competition, the dueling factions of his brain, Roger’s kindness. It was all too much.

 

“I saw the way you winced in the diner after Halloween; you’re scared of what I’m going to do to us. Believe me, I wish I could call you delusional but it’s justified. I lied to you. Again.” What hurt the most was the dullness of Roger’s expression. No drama of shock and betrayal played out upon it. He expected the pain; he didn’t even have the decency to look disappointed in the other man.

 

“I didn’t tell my parents about us, or any of my friends, I- I’m scared Roger. I thought I could do this, do us,” his fingers dug into the drummer’s flesh as he twisted handfuls of his shirt, wild eyes pleading, “but I can’t put myself out there for the entire world to lambast. Privately? I could worship at the temple of your being everyday until my last breath. Publically? I can barely muster a single hymn. You deserve better than me.” 

 

He knew then that Roger must think this love tin plated. Or worse, tin filled. Gilded on the outside but cheap and rotting within. 

 

Brian figured his hubris had exceeded just levels so the gods swallowed him whole. Not deeming him worthy of their gemstone laced teeth he fell down their gullet with a scream. Afterall he and Roger weren't the type to stay in stasis. It would've been nice to hide away in happiness in space dipped arms and warm galaxy eyes forever. But that wasn’t their fate. They were restless and free and liked the way the sun burned just a bit too much. Like Icarus before them they fell from their space sky dreams and into reality. 

 

At least he thought they had.

 

Roger looked, stone faced, into the star streaming gaze of the other man and kissed him sweet and firm. Kissed him silver and gold. Kissed him velvet and clover.

 

Perhaps this wasn’t the vast sea of tragedy Brian had made it out to be. Against all odds this sun gilded man had found a way to lodge something terribly dangerous is Brian’s brain- hope.

 

“I never- look at me,” he placed a thumb on the guitarist’s chin and forced it down, the two men now eye to eye,“I never expected this to be an instant thing, an easy thing. There’s other ways to show pride. You don’t have to paint a dick on your cheek and throw glitter on the street and buy rainbow vodka and scream in parades. You don’t have to be like Freddie and I. Everyone is their own person. Your sexuality isn’t your personality. What matters is that you’re happy with yourself. And you should be- you’re an amazing person.”

 

Roger meant every word of it; although, he found himself thankful Brian couldn’t hear the ones he kept back. The words that rattled around in his brain like operatic banshees. 

 

The second those honey brown eyes pickled in guilt and fear looked down on him and confirmed for what felt the millionth time that Brian had lied to him Roger had made a decision.

 

He liked his boyfriend. Cared for him greatly. Would tear himself apart on the altar of the other’s talents. But he couldn’t trust him. Not fully; not anymore. He didn’t care if the other man didn’t want to make their relationship public yet; what bothered him was his own constant fear of the man’s deceit. He wouldn’t be caught unawares next time- God knew there would be a next time.

 

Despite his newly forged vigilance there was a softness in the air. Brian’s gently seeping relief filled up the night air around them.

 

“Describe me like a song.” 

 

“What?” The brunette blinked.

 

“You heard me. I like how you view the world; it seems to be through some other lense none of us have access to. I want to know how Brian May sees me.” Roger was just tipsy enough to make demands.

 

“Fine.” He paused, not to think though, he pressed gentle lips against his mouth. “You're a gentle hearted runaway with star gilded eyes.” Brian was just sleep deprived enough not to be embarrassed at his own musings.

 

“Star gilded? What about star dust? Makes a bit more sense.” He gripped at a handful of curls; he knew it annoyed Brian but he couldn’t find it within his tipsy self to deny such a beautiful pleasure.

 

“No. It's completely different.”

 

“How?” He was purposely playing with Brian now and the other man knew it.

 

“I have star dust in my eyes. You're star gilded.” He kindly went along, their bodies drawing ever closer.

 

“How are they different?”

 

“Don’t you see?”

 

“No.”

 

Brian sighed and looked up at the sky. 

 

“Seems perfectly logical to me but no one ever gets it.” He looked disappointed; he looked far away.

 

“No one gets it because you won’t explain.”

 

His eyes shimmered. Full of stardust indeed.

 

“You still have one foot in reality. You can see the stars from where you are and you appreciate their beauty. But you won’t burn yourself on their heat clawing your way up to space. You're too smart for that. I'm way up in the galaxy blinded by the ballrooms of mars and the decadence of Saturn and you're hovering somewhere between the clouds and twilight’s first breath.”

 

“You don’t want to come down though. Do you?”

 

“No.”

 

“You cant see the stars if you don’t have an earthly form left.” His eyes raked over straight ribs and curved scars. Or maybe it was the other way around. The angle mattered very little as the degree of pain was already innumerable. 

 

“Yes and you can’t see them either.” He reached past roger as he sat up grabbing a small silver case and dropping it heavily on his stomach. 

 

“Put your damn glasses on.”

 

“You only want me to put my glasses on because it gets you all hot and bothered.” The blonde raised his eyebrows as he slipped on the frames leaning closer to him. They were both prone on their sides almost nose to nose.

 

“ _ And _ I want you to see the stars. Anyways, there’s too much light from the city.” An agile hand settled briefly on Roger’s waist before making a decidedly southern journey.

 

“I know.”  His voice sounded like the whiskey he’d been drinking all night and his eyes looked like Venus’ soul.

 

“Then why are we up here?” 

 

An answer never came. Not in the form of words.

 

His logic was taken in the Great Rapture of the other man’s lips. 

 

His skin felt as plush as a summertime nectarine although his flavour carried much more salt. Brian tried to measure the stars to keep his mind from collapsing upon the dwelling tongue and heat around him. Zippers clicked and hands flew, minds raced and pupils blew. 

 

As church bells rang the two men found themselves on pockmarked footing dragging along uneven hearts; it mattered very little, though, as they entered the flat and drew each other close in Brian’s bed. What they lacked in trust and honesty they drowned in a sea of familiarity and passion. They weren’t perfect; instead they were something much more spectacular- they were human.

\----

Also, despite me,  _ please  _ comment, its literally the thing that keeps me writing!!! Good or bad I dont care! Just tell me a line you liked (or didnt like) or what you want to see in the next chapter <3

  
                                                        


	15. Thirteen

A mere 24 hours to go. 24 hours until they cemented themselves in the public consciousness, a lycra and glitter itch, an adventure in the limits of the genre, an ego only matched by their potential greatness. 

 

With Heaven on the line and Hell in the wings Freddie found himself seething as the concert hall lacked three rather important beings. It was hard to run a band with just a vocalist.

 

The time of their designated soundcheck at the performance venue ten minutes away the only thing the art student found to entertain himself was the heavy pounding of the rain and swirling of his own thoughts.

 

_ Plink. _

 

Would they really make it?

 

_ Plink. _

 

Would his parents accept his invitation and attend the concert?

 

_ Plink. _

 

Why had Jim been avoiding him?

 

_ Plink. _

 

Should he perform sober tomorrow?

 

_ Plink. _

 

Should he get high first?

 

_ Plink. _

 

Should he get high right now?

 

_ Creeeeeeeeeeek. _

 

No, that wasn’t right. He turned his head to the heavy door being trust open with a confidence and an earnestness.

 

He was met with one silhouette, not three.

 

“I can leave- if you want. John told me where you were and I, well, I had to come and see you and apologize.” The distinct accent called from the doorway.

 

Freddie held his breath. Worried that if he moved this apparition might slip away.

 

“Then apologize.”

 

The Irishman stepped forward but kept a respectable distance between himself and Freddie.

 

“What I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have kissed you and I shouldn’t have ignored you. I only regret one though. You’re a light Freddie, an original, a kind soul and deeply talented.”

 

Jim’s cheeks flushed a light pink at his own words. He wasn’t the bold type.

 

Fortunately, Freddie was. 

 

He took a step closer to Jim; the two men nose to nose. Freddie felt oddly lightheaded; Jim reached an arm out around his waist to steady him. Sometimes it was absolutely terrifying to acknowledge the galaxy’s plans for you.

 

“What about Joe?”

 

“I broke up with Joe.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You know why.”

 

“Say it anyways.”

 

“I want to be with you Freddie.” 

 

He couldn’t bother to hide the smile that burst across his face as a runaway comet might. So he was a destination after all. Not some temporary abode for the drunk and needy. He was a chosen getaway; the height of want. A custom fit jewel speckled goal. 

 

“I brought you something.”

 

“Oh good, you brought condoms. I love a man who comes prepared.”

 

“Fuck off.” Jim leaned in, their foreheads pressed together. “Remember the night we met?”

 

“Of course. If I remember correctly you kept going on about some  _ boyfriend.” _

 

“Funny. I gave you a flower and told you it didn’t mean anything. They were Baby’s Breath.” He pulled out a bouquet of small white blossoms from behind his back. “They mean strong emotions.”

 

Freddie’s head buzzed with the anticipation of every piece finally falling where it should. The satisfaction that only came when each box was ticked and each passion fulfilled. His soulmate of this lifetime and a thousand before and a thousand after kissed him like he’d been waiting just as many years.

 

“If we break up I get full custody of Delilah.”

 

Lips met cold hot like steel feathers and it made Venus weep at her own inadequacy. This wasn’t a momentary lapse of judgement, nor was it too much wine or any other way a kiss may come about. This was honest and needy and filled some great hole within the universe. 

 

A rough hand gripped at his side and then dipped down a bit lower.

 

“Whenever you’re done we  _ do have a schedule to maintain.”  _

 

Jim’s face burned at John’s words as he jumped back.

 

“Sure, now you get here.” Roger, Brian and John laughed as they unpacked their instruments.

 

Jim stood gingerly by the door unsure of what to do.

 

“Come to the show tomorrow. There’s an afterparty too; if you’d like?” He suddenly felt like a kid asking out his crush in front of the other school yard children.

 

“There’s nothing I’d like more.” 

 

A chaste kiss and then the closing of a door. The universe sighed in contentment and he shuddered in warmth.

 

“Freddie and Jim sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-”

 

“Spare me Romeo.” The vocalist found his voice lacking the venom he had tried to lace it with; the happiness in his heart simply wouldn’t have it.

 

By the time the bleeding velvet sky cried for them to return home each ached with excitement and exhaustion.

 

Each perfectly aware of what they were doing they feigned innocence as instruments were restrung and drums tuned. They couldn’t bare to kill the energy of the day with sleep yet. Or perhaps they just couldn’t bare to be apart.

 

“If we’re serious about being rockstars we should practice the whole not sleeping thing now.” Roger reasoned as he pulled four beers from the fridge.

 

“Roger, I’m not sure you’re told how very smart you are often enough.” Deaky followed behind him with four more and a smirk.

 

“If you two are hungover tomorrow I’m going to kill you.” Freddie words were quickly negated by his own reaching for a bottle.

 

“If we don’t take this seriously then-”

 

“Then what? We’ll only be 80 times better than the other bands rather than 800?” Roger jabbed at the guitarist nudging a beer his way and letting their hands linger together much too long to be friendly.

 

John rolled his eyes wondering how much longer it would take for Freddie to catch on. Between their unnecessary touching, the  _ looks  _ they gave each other and the sounds that came from their bedroom he couldn’t figure out how Freddie hadn’t cracked the code yet. He figured now that the art student was happy with Jim and no longer drowning in his own emotions the revelation would come about soon.

 

“Well if Brian’s on my side I change my mind. Drink up dears and cheers to Queen!” They couldn’t help but laugh as beer sloshed over the edges of clinking bottles slicking fingertips and then lips. 

 

“When we win,” Brian, as many before him, looked thoughtfully into his beer, “what will it all mean? We’ll get recording time to make a demo but that’s no guarantee of a record deal.” When, not if, they spoke in absolutes these days as regality did require.

 

“We’ll have to make a damn good demo then.” There was a fire behind Freddie’s eyes that told the other three this was true beyond reason. They were close; the taste lingered on the palettes of their past lives.

 

“Then what?” John’s brows furrowed. “We start touring pubs? I still have three and a half years of uni left. You all have at least one and half,” he eyed Roger, “or more.”

 

The reality of victory drove dowles of panic through Brian’s brain. How had he not thought about this before?

 

“We can find a balance.” His voice came out a lot more sure than he felt.

 

“Look it’s not like they’ll give us good recording times. It will take all of next semester to record it. Over the summer we can tour around.” Three confused sets of eyes landed on Roger. He wasn’t particularly known for being the voice of reason. “What? I’m not just a pretty face; although that is my best quality.”

 

“Sorry dear, I hadn’t noticed that- the logic or the pretty face I mean.”

 

“Brian has.” John reclined and sipped at his drink.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing Fred.” Brian cut John a look which had little effect.

 

So preoccupied with living day to day it felt distinctly Odd to have a plan for the next six months. Alien really, to have goals, to have reasons to eat a bit more or drink a bit less. To put away blister packs and not lose your head at the little things. Alien but nice. 

 

So alien is was, that the suggestion to heat up leftover curry came from Brian. A smile cracked over Roger’s face and Freddie offered to help, just wanting an excuse to gaze from the kitchen window into the alley in hopes of seeing Jim on a smoke break. 

 

Dregs of a conversation regarding the bands direction floated in from the kitchen settling like a sticky heat over the bassist and drummer.

 

“I know we haven’t drunk enough for any sort of emotional conversation but do you ever feel a few degrees of separation between yourself,” Roger jerked his head towards the kitchen, “and them. I don’t mean when it’s just us or anything. That’s fine. It’s, ya know, when we’re playing in public.”

 

John let his words roll around the rippled synapses of his brain not wanting to say anything rash. “Freddie and Brian would never put us up as anything but equals you’re right. It did get to me a bit though, how they didn’t even list our names in the university paper’s review. I mean ‘accompanied by an unnamed drummer and bassist’? All I ever wanted was to go unnoticed but now, I guess, I just want some recognition.”

 

Alien indeed.

 

“Don’t say that too loud. If Fred hears you he’ll get your name bedazzled across a pair of short shorts before the competition.”

 

“Oh, like Brian wouldn’t do the same for you.” He threw a crumpled up crisps packet at the blonde’s head who just shrugged.

 

“You don’t need to act like that; I do know. I have eyes. And unfortunately  _ ears.  _ If you two could keep it down that would be just superb.” 

 

“You’re a bastard.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I think things are good now- finally.” 

 

“Good.”

 

As the two older members of Queen rejoined the group a heavy sweetness hung in the air. Perhaps this was the elusive scent of happiness. Or perhaps Roger had spilt some of the brambleberry beer on the the chesterfield cushions.

 

With the fuzzy warmth came the construction of a project more vast than the Great Wall of China, more delicate that the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and more intrinsic to the advancement of society than the Pyramids themselves. Pillows haphazardly stacked, blanket strewn about and jumpers who’s original owners were long since forgot donned, they completed their pillowfort in the sunroom. They just couldn’t bare to tear themselves apart yet. All silently afraid the spark of undeniable freedom and happiness that had followed them around from the second Freddie opened the flat door, completing their group, would find a way to fade from their beings if they weren’t there to watch over one another. 

 

That or everyone wanted a bit of a cuddle. Didn’t sound quite as poetic though.

 

The quartet seemed to slot together like a puzzle or a well constructed renaissance painting- just as complicated and just as beautiful.

 

Freddie’s dark hair splayed out over John’s chest who, in turn, had his fingers laced with Roger’s. The blonde himself was all but on top on Brian who couldn’t help but smile at the whole thing. 

 

Eons from where they started and eons still to go the flat walls barely recognized the in synch quartet.

 

Freddie eyed his phone with a smile as a simple text lit up the screen.

 

_ I’m excited to see you tomorrow. Goodnight. - Jim  _

 

One by one the musicians drifted off to dreams of resplendence and codependence. To dreams of fame and well crafted songs to tame. To dreams of happiness.

 

And wouldn’t it have been nice, if they’d stayed that way, suspended in the sleep high wonderings of their minds. It certainly would’ve saved a lot of heartbreak. 

 

In the end their fate was sealed by a lorry racing down the street. The blare of the horn forced Brian to open his groggy eyes; absentmindedly he reached for his phone. 

 

It was quite amazing how such small actions could have such profound effects.

 

He never was sure what exactly it was that made him text her back; he couldn’t even scrape together an answer hours later as cruel words slammed into his brain from the lips of his boyfriend. Well if he still had one anyways.

 

But for now this odd, alien, unknown force untangled his limbs from the sleeping blonde, it pulled a jumper over his head and trainers on his feet, it told Amanda Wilson he’d meet her in the pub in fifteen minutes.

 

The small cast of light from a briefly open door is what woke Roger. That combined with the absence of Brian normally wouldn’t worry him; the guitarist was always strung tight with worry and liked to wander down wind chilled streets at night in hopes of the cold seeping the slick magma of fear from his brain. Unfortunately it was two mere days ago Roger had made a decision. He couldn’t trust him. Not fully; not anymore. Not with the number of times Brian had forced the sunrise down and the sunset up. He liked his boyfriend. Cared for him greatly. Would tear himself apart on the altar of the other’s talents. But he was a Venus liar.

 

Tattered purple converse and a jacket he realized was Brian’s just a bit too late. The very scent of it suffocated him as the blonde watched the pub door close behind his boyfriend. He was framed rather nicely in the fogged up windows across from a woman with gold dust hair. A fine skylark she was.

 

If the gold was on the ceiling the writing was on the wall and the blood was on the floor.

 

Brian wasn’t going to cheat; he didn’t want to. But he wanted something secret, something just his. An emotional clandestine affair perhaps. A friendship on the precipice. But friends didn’t meet in pubs at 2am after pushing away their sleeping boyfriend.

 

Amanda was kind, she laughed at his jokes, she put her hand on his arm, no one stared at them. They could exist simply and unnoted. But that wasn’t who he was. Brian May would be damned in the world passed him by. 

 

He apologized for cutting their night short and left.

 

Roger was brash and bold. He was transcendent and Teutonic. He was more than Brian ever wanted and he found himself blessed with this overabundance of spirit. He cursed himself for ever leaving the flat and thanked every god that didn’t exist for stopping him from going any further.

 

Around the corner stood his destiny with a cigarette and a frown. He damned his love, damned his life.

 

Roger was sure looking back on it that there was lighting in the sky spreading evil shadows across their faces, that there was thunder ringing in their ears, that there was a stiff wind tearing at their skin. Brian remembered the night being still and clear.

 

His heart wasn’t swallowed by his stomach nor did a heady lightness bite at his brain. It was impossible for him to feel more guilt than that which had tore at his flesh since he stepped out the door. Roger was simply a manifestation of it.

 

“Rog-” He moved to put a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and was quickly pushed away. The night wind stole his breath as his back connected with the alley wall.

 

“You know Bri, it’s pretty fucked up how much you want to love anyone who isn’t me. I get it- nothing happened. But you wish you could’ve brought yourself to do it. You went about as far as you could go without doing anything at all. And if that doesn’t sum you up I don’t know what does. Almost is halfway to damnation afterall.” A cruelty lied behind Bette Davis eyes that he had never seen before. The look made the November air feel balmy.

 

The blonde glowered up at him from his eyeline to the taller man’s lips. Brian wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss Roger or kick him.

 

“I’m not the type to give you peace of mind. What did you think? You’d blow me once and all my problems would go away? I get it’s hard for you but I can’t figure out my own fucking head Rog!

I’m strung out on guilt and self loathing so if I act like a child you need to know that’s all I’ve got for you right now. You ask too much of me and then wait for me to slip up so you can have the moral high ground. The universe already knows the score between us and that’s good enough for me.” He tried to keep his voice even, tried to look Roger in the eyes and not linger too long on his lips. He couldn’t help his sharp inhale as the blonde pressed his body closer to Brian’s. 

 

“I’d love to love you- more than anything,” his hands gripped the collar of Brian’s coat jerking him down so they were eye to eye, the brunette’s neck strained, “but my feelings aren’t a denomination for you to spend when the guilt gets to be too much. And please tell me what the goddamn hell you mean by ‘ask too much’? Sorry if it’s inconvenient for you not to starve yourself to death! Sorry it’s such a fucking production for you to keep your skin in one piece! Your issues aren’t a burden Brian but you sure as hell can be.” His smoke stained breath languished across the guitarist face. For the first time in his life Brian had the urge to smoke a cigarette.

 

What was it about Roger’s anger that brought him to his knees? Maybe it reminded him of his drumming. Wild, angry, unapologetic. The blonde’s hips pressed dangerously into his own and all he wanted to was pin the drummer against the wall and keep him still so he could focus.

 

“And you think I have a field day apologizing for your outbursts and buying new plates every other week? You’re just as delusional as I am if you think I’m the only one with problems.” 

 

“I guess we’re both fucked then.” There wasn’t any venom left in the husky tone. He was tired; they were tired. Couldn’t the cosmos leave them alone in each other's arms? He supposed they wouldn’t burn quite as bright then. 

 

“Have some faith in me Roger; that’s all I’m asking.” His voice was almost kind.

 

“I can’t. That's the thing about our generation- we’re faithless. Jezebels and jokers running through the night without fear of consequences or a goal for their plight. We live one today at a time but we know when all is said and done and those days are strung together it won’t mean jack shit. We have no goals or aspirations. We’re just trying to survive. I think you need some greater power to make something of yourself. Weather that be belief in yourself or a higher power or music or art or science. You need a driving force. Not many people have that. We do. A driving force, that is, not faith. Part of this is my fault and part of it is yours and part of it is some Pagan God no one’s ever heard of.”

 

“Fine, if you can’t string together a few beads of faith then accept what I’m saying is the truth. I care about you but  _ neither  _ of us are perfect.”

 

“The truth isn’t some half baked monster you scraped together from the tendrils of your mind. It’s an objective fact.” His hips swayed again and Brian took the opportunity to slip his leg in between Roger’s and spin them around. The brick wall dug unkindly into the blonde’s back and encased a shiver as Brian brought his mouth to his ear.

 

“Nothing happened.”

 

“Then why were you there?” Blue eyes looked up, searching, pleading.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“That’s not fucking good enough.”

 

“I know.”

 

Solid Gold Easy Action blared from inside the pub.

 

Brian’s lips dragged along the shell of Roger’s ear. The sea roared somewhere very far away. Time coated itself in tar and slid past like a broken clock. They stood leaning on the pedestal of each other’s anger.

 

“What are we without trust?”

 

“Dangerous.”

 

Teeth flashed like slashback razors and lips were fresh out of honey. The tender child burned her whites long ago. It was a metallic kiss; full of steel grindings and distrust. Full of molten silver and passion. Full of anger and the streaky titanium that follows behind a comet.

 

Fear and love hung heavy in the air all around them. They knew then they were damned. Chained together by love, by lust, by lyrics they would never be without the other. But should the world leave them behind, forget its cosmic duty to keep them together, surely they would both burn.

 

The carnival was dead and the silence was golden. They were desperate to be in love but stood in their own way tall and unmoving as Goliath himself.

 

They held each other’s hands just a bit too tight on the walk back to the flat. 

 

\------

 

Only one chapter left to go,,,,,

 

Looks like everyone is a bit uneasy heading into the finals,,

 

Anything you’d like to see in the last chapter? Any predictions?

Pls comment ladios,,,, <3          


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